The Curious Death of Mr Tumnus
by Springfall
Summary: COMPLETE! With a little help from the White Stag, Lucy and Tumnus learn that love truly does conquer all. LucyTumnus romance and a little bit of angst.
1. Foreward: Dreams Within Dreams

**Foreword**

**Dreams Within Dreams**

Come closer and, if you like, I will tell you the most curious story I have ever heard.

Like all good stories, this one must begin with the facts that are _certain_: all in Narnia know the story of the defeat of the White Witch. Every child has listened, spell-bound, to the tale of Aslan's battle against the horde of darkness. And everyone knows of the Kings and Queens of Narnia; the Sons of Adam and the Daughters of Eve who saved Narnia by Aslan's side and ruled justly through the Golden Age.

But now we must continue with the facts that are _not_.

What no one in Narnia knew is what happened on the day the Pevensies disappeared. For month after month, search parties ranged across Narnia and its neighbors, searching first in good faith and then, slowly, losing hope.

We know, of course. We have been privileged, we have been told. We know how the four stumbled upon the lamp-post, and how they felt the draw of a dream within a dream. We know they pushed through branches and then coats, until, with a stagger, they fell out of the wardrobe. "Spare Oom," Lucy had murmured. And there they remained, until further adventures in Narnia.

But none of Narnia's citizens possessed this knowledge. Nor did many of them ever see the children (at least not for a long, long time—but that is a different story) for, as we have been told, they traveled in a different time and a different Narnia altogether. That is not to say that creatures of Narnia forgot them, or that the Pevensies forgot any part of their kingdom—for they remembered too well, painfully at first and then vaguely as years passed until there was one who did not remember at all.

But there were some who longed for the Golden Age strongly still. In Narnia still there was one, a yearning, faithful soul, who returned to the lamp-post most every day, clutching a white handkerchief in large hands, mind blank except for one thought. And there was one Pevensie who spent the nights, in that first year, pushing fruitlessly against the back of the wardrobe in that far-away land of Spare Oom, tears matting her hair.

To this day, there is a legend in Narnia far greater a tale than any yet: greater than the Hundred Years' Winter and the reign of the Witch; greater than that famous battle and more wondrous even than the Pevensies' fulfillment of the prophecy. I firmly believe this is the truth. And, as a lover of stories (and really, who isn't?), I cherish this one most of all. Perhaps this is Narnia's most beloved tale. Or perhaps it isn't.

Who can say for certain?

The obvious answer is Aslan. They say that Aslan knows all that occurs, in Narnia and beyond. I believe in Aslan and I have faith in his power; all faithful of Narnia, those that knew the Golden Age, believe. Every land has its stories, and I have found that every place, great or small, forever has a pair of doomed lovers, too different in age or wealth or circumstance.

Our lovers were too different in worldly ways.

One a girl, one not-quite-a-man. And while one dwelt alone, deep in a Narnian cave, the other lived in the mysterious realm of Spare Oom with no certain way to return to Narnia again. But they also say that Aslan has seen everything that will be and also everything that might. He once told the youngest Queen that no one can know what might have been.

Thus it was that Aslan sent the answer to the faithful Mr. Tumnus, should he choose to follow it. And here the real story starts. You must decide for yourself what parts are facts, and which bits are not quite. You must use your own faith and judgment. But that, in my opinion, always makes it more interesting.

So, my dear one, how about you come and have a cup of tea with me? I'll tell you the greatest story I know.


	2. I: The Golden Age

**I**

**The Golden Age**

Lucy woke up and, for a moment, she seemed to be blind. She sat up and threw the heavy satin comforter off her, and stared around groggily in the dark. Her hands stretched out and she felt silk draperies, and she sighed. For a moment, she had forgotten herself. She pushed them aside and early light flooded the room, gray and new. She shivered, for even summer mornings were cold here. She slipped her feet into embroidered slippers and pulled on her dressing robe, and padded out to the small balcony off her room. She leaned on the polished white railing, overlooking the sea. She looked east, the faint rim of Sun just rising, and thought of Aslan. Surely, Lucy thought, he must be the one who makes it rise every day. In the rough blue surf, mermaids shrieked and splashed. She sighed, closing green eyes. "It is a beautiful world," she said aloud.

She turned at a cough. Susan had entered, a smile on her face. "Morning, Lu. Don't you even know what today is?"

"Why, no," she said, surprised. It didn't ever seem to matter in Narnia. Spring went to summer and that turned to autumn and winter. Days didn't mean anything more than the Sun crossing the sky. Lucy pulled her tangled braid over her shoulder, bright red in the morning light. "Thursday?"

"It's your birthday," Susan said softly. "You couldn't have forgotten your own birthday, Lu."

"I must have," Lucy was embarrassed. For a few long moments, Lucy said nothing, her eyes unfocusing. She wondered if Mr. Tumnus would remember, and if he would call on her. He came most days. Her heart tripped a little in her chest and she gasped, catching herself. She felt most like she was falling, when she thought of him without restraint. Susan laughed at her gently, her blue eyes reading her younger sister better than Lucy realized.

"Well, come on to breakfast, then. Let's get you dressed. Your brothers have a surprise for you."

Lucy dressed and brushed out her long hair, leaving it hanging down her back. She did not usually enjoy fussing with it. She made her way to the Grand Hall, where they were most partial to taking breakfast. Peter and Edmund were indeed already there, along with Susan. Peter looked up when she entered, sunlight catching his golden beard. Lucy smiled at him. She loved her eldest brother so, and she thought that every day he grew more handsome. No girl should ask for a better set of brothers, really, she said to herself as she sat down.

"Morning, Lu," Peter greeted her. Edmund had his mouth full of toast and jam, but he grunted in way of hello. Peter looked as though he would burst from smugness. "Susan tells us that you forgot your own birthday."

"I must admit that's true," Lucy laughed, sitting down across from Peter. She looked at him. "Peter, you look awfully queer. Do you feel alright?"

"I feel fine, Lu. I just feel that someone who forgot her own birthday probably wouldn't be interested in any presents."

"How old are you, anyway, Lu?" Edmund had swallowed his toast. He grinned. "Do you remember that?"

"I'm eighteen," she said defiantly. He shrugged.

"Well, at least you remember that."

"What's my present?" Lucy looked expectantly at her brother.

"How'd you like to go on a hunt with me?" Peter watched her expectantly.

"Oh, Peter! D'you really mean it?" Lucy's eyes shone as brilliantly as the sun when Peter said that. She had so longed to ride through the forests of Narnia with her older siblings, but Susan and Peter had always insisted she was too young. But now, here they were offering. "Susan, you mean it too?" Susan smiled softly.

"It's not any fun without you, really, Lu." Lucy shrieked in joy and nearly knocked her chair over hurrying to fling her arms around Peter's strong neck and Susan's thin shoulders. She hugged Edmund for good measure, and although he grunted he was smiling. "After breakfast, we'll get ready."

Mr. Tumnus did not find it strange that none of the Pevensies were on their thrones when he arrived just after breakfast. In his hands, he clutched a packaged neatly wrapped in brown paper, tied with a knotted white string. In the crisp summer wind, his curls were wild as he nodded to the guards and made his way to Lucy's room.

It must be said, Tumnus never felt completely comfortable being in Lucy's room just with the both of them. He always suspected that Peter and Susan knew of his feelings for the youngest Queen—although neither were anything but kind towards him. He knocked at the door, his hands clammy, shifting the bundle in his arms. The brown paper crackled and, he hoped, hid the pounding of his heart.

There was never anything quite like seeing Lucy for the first time in a day, Tumnus thought, as she opened the door. The sun lit her from behind, her hair the color of flame in this light, her green eyes just a shade lighter than her gown. On her feet, deep chocolate boots. He stared at her waist, slender underneath the close-fit bodice.

"Mr. Tumnus!" her voice was delighted and he forced himself to look at her face. Her round cheeks glowed with excitement and her small mouth stretched to smile at him. He loved most, he decided, the gap between her front teeth. And then she hugged him gently, arms brushing his hair, and he changed his mind. Her arms, certainly. Her arms were certainly what he loved most. "What are you doing here?"

"Bringing you your gift, of course, my Queen," he mumbled softly, holding out the brown paper to her. "I am only sorry it is not finer."

"You must call me Lucy," she told him earnestly. "And I am sure it will be the most wonderful gift." She laughed as her nimble fingers picked at the knot. "I really _am_ the only one who forgot it was my birthday!"

"You forgot your birthday?" He didn't believe her. "How did you manage that?"

"Mind on other things, I suppose," she said, suddenly distant. He always wondered where her mind went on such occasions. This always happened, when he asked her what she thought about. Her fingers stopped working the knot.

"Let me," he said, pulling the strings apart. "I should not have made it so tight." She started and then flushed.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tumnus. I forgot myself. I seem to do that often these days."

"My Queen—Lucy—forgive me for forgetting. How old are you?" Tumnus changed the subject. He didn't like for her to wander too much. He feared she wandered to the man she loved. Man, he thought bitterly, and a frown must have creased his brown because she looked with concern at him. She did not say anything, simply took the package back after the knot was removed.

"I am eighteen—oh! Mr. Tumnus! You shouldn't have," she said with glee, pulling the paper away from a soft green scarf. It was the misty green of moss, knitted by hand all that bright early summer. She looked at it adoringly, and then clutched it to her chest, eyes large. "It's a pity my birthday is in August, isn't it?"

"I suppose anticipation to wear it will be another part of the gift," Tumnus laughed, and Lucy mock-pouted her round lips at him before smiling. She turned and failed to notice the longing in her dear friend's face.

"I fear I cannot visit long today, dear Mr. Tumnus," she told him, after gently placing the scarf in her wardrobe. "The others are finally taking me on my first hunt."

Mr. Tumnus hid his disappointment with ease. He had become used to, watching Lucy grow more beautiful with each day and each day more queenly.

"I forgive you on one condition," he said grandly.

"And what is that, loyal subject?"

"That you call upon me as soon as you return." Lucy smiled.

"That is a promise, Faun." She closed the door to her room.

"Your eyes are the color of the sea during storm," he said breathlessly, before he could stop himself. The deep green studied him. Tumnus looked at his hooves. There was no hope for him and Lucy. He was only a Faun, and she—well, the Queen of Narnia.

"Thank you," she said. "For the fine compliment and gift. I am not sure which I like more." He shifted his weight. "Why do you not look at me?"

"Because I am afraid what other foolishness might escape my lips," he muttered to her boots.

Without thinking, she blurted, "I like your lips!" He looked up with a queer expression and they both laughed, albeit nervously. "I like your foolishness. You're a silly Faun." He smiled painfully.

_You have no idea the things I think of you at night,_ he thought, looking her in the face.

"I should go," he said, turning. "I hope you have a marvelous hunt. I am sure you will catch the White Stag."

"Oh, what do you reckon he'd tell me?"

"He would give you what you most want," said Tumnus, his voice growing strong with the air of a storyteller. "He would look at your face and see your heart's desire, and then he would grant you the ability to snatch it up and keep it safe forever."

"Well, I will call on you when I return. I promise you that." And, without knowing why she did, Lucy hurried to put a hand on his arm. He turned back to her, confused, and Lucy pressed her mouth to his without thinking about it.

Tumnus felt the strength leave his muscles. Her hands held his cheeks firmly, the soft skin of the palms against his short beard. He could not bring himself to pull away, although here in this bring parlour anyone with a mind to could see them. Her lips were parted and so tempted was Tumnus that it was fortunate Lucy released him before he pressed her against a wall and—

Then Lucy's smooth lips were gone and Tumnus, thankfully, could kill that train of thought. Lucy was red in the cheeks. Tumnus could not speak. He moved his mouth and no words came out. Finally, he managed her name.

"Lucy," it was a squeak. And she laughed, and the awkwardness smoothed out.

"I must go. Thank you for a lovely birthday gift. I will call on you when I return. Take care 'til then, dear Mr. Tumnus." He held her against him for the briefest moment and watched her precede him down the passage to the bright Grand Hall.

"Damn you, Tumnus," he muttered to his own heart. "You must never, ever let her know. She would laugh in your face and, what's worse! You would lose your only, dearest friend. Stop it. She is a queen and you are only a faun who knits and lives alone in a damp old cave. Satisfy yourself that she looks on you with such affection." Yet she had kissed him. He left Cair Paravel with a wave to the siblings, mounting their horses, and traveled the well-worn path back to his home.

Tumnus never knew that Lucy and her siblings found the White Stag and chased it. He did not know that the Lamp-Post awoke in them memories of a life long past, and still as curious as the day he had met her, Lucy had led them straight back to the wardrobe. All Tumnus knew was that a week passed, and then another, with no sign or word of the Pevensies. Tumnus knew only the anxious, heart-wrenching wait as search parties scoured the land; Tumnus only knew the snap inside of him when they declared the four children dead.

It was not simply Tumnus' heart that broke when he heard news that Lucy Pevensie, Queen of Narnia, was lost. His entire being cracked. He could barely rise from bed. He certainly did not leave his home. All those shortening nights, as August vanished as Lucy had and turned slowly to winter, he sat in a daze. What happened? He asked himself. Could I have saved her? Stupid, careless Faun. He screamed it out loud. All those passing continued by. Mrs. Beaver very nearly brought him over dinner, but Beaver discouraged it. They all knew of Tumnus' affection for Lucy—most as friendship, but a few (like the Beavers) suspecting something more. Outside Tumnus' grimy windows, rain poured. All that autumn Narnia wept for its lost Kings and Queens. It was just as broken as Tumnus, although we did not realize it yet. The Golden Age had ended, but to Tumnus all he could think about was Lucy.

Part of you dies when you lose the one and only person that has ever mattered. There is nothing, Tumnus thought, for me now in this place. There was no joy in anything. Day passed day, weeks turned to months, and he festered in his grief, staring down at his rough fur.

No news came of the four children, although hope remained in Narnia. Hope was the most any had in those unstable days of early winter. And soon, a new King was appointed. Tumnus heard the news from the Beavers, when he finally left his house. He sat at their table, blue eyes as blank as the cold gray sky. It was almost Christmas. Beaver and his wife looked at each other with concern.

"It is my fault," Tumnus said, and then wouldn't explain.

Each day he longed to wake a Son of Adam. Each night he went to bed a Faun. One morning, it was too much. Fretfully he pushed all of his books and tea cups off a table. The picture of his father crashed to the floor, the glass covering the photo breaking. "If only I had been born a Son of Adam!" he cried. And with a sob, Tumnus dropped into a chair and yanked out fistfuls of his own fur, teeth gritted. Two wispy bare patches appeared on his thighs. "Horrible Faun," he hissed. "Worthless, loveless, Lucy-less Faun." The Beavers stopped calling on him.

"It's too much," Mrs. Beaver told her husband, tears gathering in her small eyes for she was, after all, a sentimental woman. "That poor young man."

"He misses her hard," Beaver grunted in agreement. "But he's gone funny, dear. I think it's best to give Mr. Tumnus some space."

And snow began to fall. It was one week till Christmas.

It is not to be supposed that Lucy forgot all about her dear friend, Mr. Tumnus. Every night, Edmund or Peter or Susan dragged her away from the wardrobe, wrapping her in blankets and setting her before the fire with hot chocolate. She whimpered and wept, but she would not talk to anyone about what had happened to her. Her eyes were dark and she barely spoke. Even the Professor did not know what to make of it.

"Give her time," was the only suggestion.

It was Susan who first realized what it must be. She wrapped her arm around the bundle that was her young sister.

"You miss Tumnus, don't you, Lu?" Peter and Edmund looked at the girls, their eyes dark in the dim room.

"He—he was my very best friend!" she sobbed, burying her face in Susan's chest. Susan stroked her short hair.

"Don't worry, Lu," Peter said encouragingly. "He'll be waiting for the next time we go to Narnia. You'll see him again. We'll all see Aslan and Tumnus and the Beavers and everyone again."

Lucy cheered after that day, but on the darkest nights she still returned to the wardrobe, tapping at the back of it, trying to find a way in. The professor caught her one and explained she would only get in now when she was not expecting it. Still, she tried. But time past and slowly Mr. Tumnus faded from her recent memory, tucked away in her heart where a woman hides her deepest treasures. And when she did return to Narnia, she did not meet Mr. Tumnus. There was no sign of him. And so she sailed away with Prince Caspian and Edmund, leaving Peter with the Professor in a new, small cabin near the woods and Susan off to America with her parents. Her love for Narnia returned, but the love for Mr. Tumnus was being sheltered, waiting for the day to break out into all of Lucy once again.

It was on that day of the Beaver's discussion that Tumnus appeared at the lamp-post. He simply sat down in the snow with a book, huddled under his parasol, red scarf wrapped about his neck, and waited.

"He's waiting for something that will never come," the Animals said to one another. And so the story passed through the woods that Tumnus, the Faun so dear to the late Queen Lucy, had lost his mind. All avoided him. He did not seem to notice. He simply sat at the lamp-post, waiting for Lucy. After all, he reasoned to himself, if she does return to Narnia, she will come here. For this is where she appeared in the first place. He knew he was right. This was a good plan. And so, he waited. And perhaps he would have kept waiting.

Some say that the story spread all the way to Aslan. And well did Aslan remember the youngest Queen, brave of heart, and her determination to save Mr. Tumnus from the White Witch's spell. And one bitingly cold day, as Tumnus sat reading, he heard the familiar crunch of feet in the snow. Heart in his throat, he leapt up.

Before him stood the White Stag.


	3. II: Spare Oom

**II**

**Spare Oom**

There are certain things in this world no one can question. The greatness of Aslan is one. Another is love. And some loves are so great that they are the cause of the noblest of things: the biggest adventures told, the greatest lives led. All for love.

Whether it was love for Lucy, love for Tumnus, or a love for love that sent the White Stag, none but Aslan can say for certain. Whatever the reason, there it was. Tumnus stared at the delicate nostrils, curled at his scent. Tumnus was on his feet, his book forgotten. Snow caught in his eyelashes until they drove him to distraction. He shook his head and the Stag took off, leaping silently across the clearing, towards a stand of pines.

Tumnus had no choice. He ran after. Here was what he had been so patiently waiting for. One of great faith, Tumnus the Faun; although he did not know for what he waited, he waited all the same.

Aslan once told the Children of Adam that to follow the White Stag is to have the chance to know the answers to all questions. To know the truth of things. To catch the White Stag—a thing beyond dreams. But Tumnus was going to, now. The only word in his frantic mind was "Lucy". Not a face, not anything written. The word, the sound on her lips when she introduced herself. In his hand, her handkerchief. He would never leave that behind. He tore after the Stag, swatting angrily at the braches of pines that whipped at him.

The Stag had led him through the grove for only a moment before it seemed to crouch and enter a tunnel, except nothing was there but trees. Tumnus mimicked the Stag (for reasons unknown to him) and stooped, pushing himself closer, his muscles aching. And suddenly the trees were different. He reached out his hand and his fingertips brushed the flank of the White Stag. All air left his lungs as he crashed through something solid and landed on hard ground.

He looked up. No forest here. Solid wooden walls surrounded him, but not in any home he knew. The Stag disappeared through the door to this…room? He did not have time to think about what it was. He flung the door wider as he reached it, watching the Stag flee outdoors. He put out his foot and then he was falling, banging his hips and knees against sharp stairs, nothing like the mellow rounded steps he was used to. He landed in a heap at the bottom, his head reeling. He put his hands underneath him to stand, and then stopped. His blue eyes widened.

His hands were the same size but the fingers were longer now. There was no fur on them save a faint fuzz one could barely call hair. His arms were barely shaded with this strange new fur. He pulled himself up to his feet.

His _feet._

Tumnus stared in horror as he swayed, slightly, on top of long-toed feet. Toes. Ten toes. Thin legs, also with fine hair, knobby knees, muscles barely covered by thin skin.

Tumnus turned red. Barely any hair anywhere.

He was naked, but the sudden realization dawned on him even more surprising: he was not a Faun. He was…what? Surely not a Son of Adam?

He spotted a glass in this hall and he hurried to it. He shouted in fright.

"What enchantment is this?" he said, touching his face. His curly hair was normal, still, and his eyes the same blue with heavy lashes. But his nose was straight and pointed at the end. And his ears—no longer the ears of his distant goat relatives. Small and curling, like an intricate shell. He touched them and almost laughed at the ticklishness of them. He pawed aside his hair. No curving horns. He shyly turned around. No ridge of fur over his spine. No tail.

"It's impossible," he said, awe-struck.

"What the HELL are you doing in here?" came an angry shout.

Tumnus wheeled and looked to his right. A tall, well-muscled young man stood in the outside doorway, wielding some sort of paddle-bat-club (Tumnus would later find out it was a cricket bat), with a funny sort of skirt made out of what looked like a towel. His blonde hair was wet and his chest bare. Across the left pectoral, the shape of a lion. "Where did you come from? This is private bloody property, you pervert!"

"Aslan?" Tumnus whispered, but realized that the young man was advancing towards him. He turned and tried to run, but his new legs failed him and he tripped up in the carpet runner of this hallway. He fell and cowered at the feet of this Son of Adam.

"Get out," growled the young man.

"Aslan?" Tumnus asked again. The lion on his chest flexed as if in answer. The boy dropped his arm, the club hanging limply.

"Who are you?" his voice was suspicious. Tumnus trembled and brought his knees together, trying to cover himself. And then it dawned on him. Blonde hair and such unfailing courage.

"Peter?" he asked, incredulous. His eyes widened and lit up. "High King Peter!"

Peter looked at him like he was mad, but he offered his hand to help him up. Tumnus scrambled uneasily to his feet and stood rocking, his face flushed from embarrassment and excitement.

"Who are you? Did you…did you come from Narnia?"

"It's Tumnus! Lucy's Tumnus." And Peter blinked once before grinning and slapping Tumnus on the shoulder. Tumnus winced.

"Mr. Tumnus! What are you doing here? How did you get in? Not…not the wardrobe?"

"Is this Spare Oom?" Tumnus was looking about frantically. "Are we in Spare Oom?"

"Er, we're in England," Peter said gently.

"Yes, War Drobe, Spare Oom, England," Tumnus waved his hand impatiently. "Where is Queen Lucy?"

"Peter? Is everything quite all right?" came a voice from another door off the hall.

"Yes, just a minute, Professor!" Peter cried quickly, turning Tumnus back to the stairs. "Let's get you in some clothes," he muttered, helping Tumnus up.

"Where is Lucy?" Tumnus asked again, as he sat naked on Peter's bed. Peter retrieved a pair of trousers, a collared shirt, and suspenders.

"She's visiting at our cousin's. Put these on." And as Tumnus dressed in Peter's castoffs, Peter proceeded to tell Tumnus about the Pevensies' second adventure in Narnia, involving a young Prince named Caspian.

"Never heard of him," Tumnus shrugged. "And, anyhow, you and King Edmund and Queens Susan and Lucy are the true rulers of Narnia, with Aslan, as far as anyone's concerned." Tumnus sat still and let Peter do up his suspenders. "These are rather… restrictive."

"You'll get used to them," Peter assured him. "But what are you doing here, Mr. Tumnus?"

"I was at the Lamp-Post, reading, waiting for Lucy," said Tumnus simply. "I saw the White Stag. And you know what that means. So I followed it into Spare Oom. But I saw it leap through the main doorway of this place."

"Tumnus…I haven't been to Narnia in ten years," Peter gently told him. Tumnus looked distressed. "And as far as I know, neither has Lucy. But who knows when Narnia shall call on her again? I daresay only Aslan. How long has it been in Narnia, since we left?"

"Only a little over a year," Tumnus said mournfully. "I don't understand. How you have grown! And you say when you returned to Narnia, hundreds of years had passed. How can this be? Is it still near Christmas? Do you not have snow in Spare Oom?"

"It's only the first of August," Peter said gently. "It's something the Professor explained to me. Time is different here and there. No one can quite explain it—it can't be easily converted. D'you know that when Edmund and Susan and Lu and I all came out of the wardrobe again, we were all children?"

"We have been mourning you," Tumnus said in disbelief. "All of Narnia has been mourning you. We thought you dead, or worse."

"Nah," Peter said. "Just back here." Peter pulled on a pair of shorts and trousers, buttoning his own shirt. Tumnus watched the tattoo of Aslan swallowed up by light blue fabric. Tumnus' shirt was a dark, crisp color, gray-blue like the sea. He started when Peter said that.

"What happened!" cried Tumnus, standing up. "The day you took Lucy to hunt, her birthday? What happened?" And as Peter told again the story of finding the lamp-post as if a dream, the stairs on the landing creaked.

"What on Earth is going on?" Peter looked with Tumnus to the doorway. There stood the good Professor, spectacles in hand, looking completely baffled. Peter quickly introduced the two, but the Professor had heard all about Tumnus from Lucy. It lifted Tumnus' spirits immensely to hear it, Peter noticed. And as Tumnus practiced pacing about on his human legs, he explained his journey to Spare Oom to the Professor. The Professor sat on the bed next to Peter, dumbfounded. "I thought the Wardrobe was sealed up."

"So did I. Don't you remember how Lucy used to prowl around for it to open?" Peter confirmed the Professor's words. "And, Tumnus, by Aslan! What has happened to your body?"

Tumnus looked down at his bare feet, wondering at the way his strange toenails shone. "I do not know for certain," he said slowly. "I touched the White Stag in War Drobe. That is the only explanation I have. Perhaps it thought I would be better suited to a Son of Adam's body than that of a Faun, here in Spare Oom."

"That was wise of it," Peter laughed, "for there are no fauns here."

Tumnus then regarded both Peter and the Professor seriously.

"I need to know where Queen Lucy is. I need to see her." He looked so forlorn the Professor should have wept, he was so confounded by the whole scene (had he been a weeping man). "King Peter, why can't you summon her here?"

"I told you, she's with her cousin," he said, although a suspicion had been creeping in his mind. "Although it would not surprise me in the least if she were in Narnia."

"Why is it you have not returned since your adventure with Caspian?"

"I am not able to, nor Susan," Peter explained glumly. "We are too old now, Aslan says. It is the worst pain I have known. But Edmund and Lucy are young enough yet. And if any of us would return to Narnia, it would be Lu. You know how she loves it so." And you, he said to himself.

"I think our major concern right now should be catching this White Stag," the Professor said, rising from the bed. "And perhaps a cup of tea."

"Yes," Peter agreed eagerly. "Mr. Tumnus, you said it fled out the door?" Tumnus nodded and Peter could tell he was still very much upset about not finding Lucy here. "There is a bit of Narnia running about and we need to catch it, before we can get you to see Lucy."

"It's impossible to catch the White Stag," Tumnus said roughly, and it took Peter by surprise. "The White Stag is only an idea—I touched it, and that's as close as anyone ever gets to any idea. It's like trying to carry water in a broken jar."

"I know," Peter said, "but we've got to try. It may help us discover just where Lucy is."

* * *

Tumnus sat on the front stoop of the cabin, taking in the scenery. Peter had wanted to finish his study for that day (only a couple more hours, he promised) and Tumnus was awe-struck at this new world he found himself in. And so Tumnus spent the day getting used to his new legs, fussing with his clothing, and exploring the cabin's large yard with all the joy and curiosity of a child. And sunset led Peter to him, the barefooted former-Faun, his blue eyes glazed and distant. He stared off down the road, and he started when Peter spoke.

"So what do you think?"

"Spare Oom is the most beautiful and curious place I've ever been," Tumnus said breathlessly. "Well, I've never left Narnia. But I imagine no place could be as charming as this."

"The Professor's old home was more enchanting," Peter admitted, sitting down on the steps beside Tumnus. "But he ran into money problems. This place does well, though. He gets lonely. You have no idea," he said, suddenly serious, "how much the Professor is thrilled by your arrival."

"The Professor? Why?" Tumnus did not take his eyes from the dirt road.

"He created Narnia, you see," Peter said. Tumnus laughed.

"Aslan created Narnia."

"That's true," Peter agreed. He should not try to explain it all to Tumnus just yet. "I suppose the Professor really created the link between here and Narnia. He is an amazing man, Mr. Tumnus. But of course, like me, he is too old to ever get back there. And he is excited to meet a citizen of Narnia."

"But, King Peter," Tumnus was confused, and took his blue eyes from Spare Oom and set them on Peter. "_You_ are a citizen of Narnia. You and Queen Susan and King Edmund. And Lucy," he was quiet. Peter could tell how much he longed for her.

"You do miss her terribly, don't you?" his voice was gentle.

"More than I have ever missed anyone," Tumnus said firmly. "I don't believe you can understand what it feels like."

"I do," Peter replied quickly. "The first time we visited Narnia, our father was off fighting in a terrible war. Perhaps Lucy told you?"

"Yes," Tumnus said. "I recall her saying that. Forgive me for saying you do not understand, King Peter."

"Mr. Tumnus, I'll stop talking to you unless you call me Peter. It is only in Narnia I am King."

"You are always a King of Narnia, no matter where you are." Tumnus looked very seriously at him. "You will forever be the High King. But I shall do as you say, so long as you do not call me Mr. any longer. I believe we are about the same age—in Spare Oom time."

"Yes," Peter realized suddenly that this was true. "For I am twenty-three, and you cannot be more than a year or so older."

"And so how old is Lucy?" Tumnus looked anxious.

"She is eighteen this month."

"She was that age when you disappeared," Mr. Tumnus nearly wailed in despair. He did not understand how such magic could work. There was no pattern to it. There was no way to know what was happening in Narnia; and he realized that as the Pevensies had been on their adventures with Prince Caspian, they had passed by the same places he was. They had been in the future, in the same space. Tumnus shivered. It must explain those tugs on my heart, he said to himself. Those were the times Lucy was near. "So it as if no time at all has passed."

"In a way, I suppose it is like that," Peter agreed. "But I have no doubt she will know you instantly, although you look so…different."

"Do I look as awful as all that?" Tumnus laughed, but it was forced and worried. Peter realized instantly what he had said, and he regretted it.

"No, not at all. You are quite handsome, actually. I would not have imagined you could ever be a man."

"Neither did I," Tumnus said honestly. Dreamed about it, he thought wistfully, but never thought it would happen. "You think…you think Lucy will know me?"

"Absolutely," Peter said, and he had no doubts. "And it will not be so long before she comes home. Her birthday is at this month's end, as you know. My parents will be returning from America—

"Amereeka?"

"It is another land, across an ocean," Peter explained quickly. "My parents took a holiday, and Susan went with them. And soon I should expect Edmund and Lucy to join us here, to visit for a bit with the Professor before we go home to Finchley."

"So Lucy will be here soon."

"I should think so," Peter nodded. "Come on. Aren't you hungry? It's practically supper-time."

Tumnus took one last look at the sunset. "Truly, Peter," he said quietly, "it is a beautiful world."


	4. III: The Hole in the Sky

_A/N: One of the ideas in this part is borrowed from "The Subtle Knife" by Philip Pullman—excellent book, by the way, if you haven't read it. Also, don't worry—this is still a Tumnus/Lucy. Just thought it'd be grand to shake things up even more for the Pevensies and dear Mr. Tumnus. Also, to those who commented on ages: I know the ages are off—I just wanted to make sure everything would end up legal. I didn't really see any other way to do it _:)_ Enjoy!_

**III**

**The Hole in the Sky**

Time passed and Tumnus grew more accustomed and (it must be said) fond of his new body. He and Peter passed the hours amicably; they took meals with the Professor, and Tumnus eagerly tore through the books Peter had brought for class and those in the Professor's private library.

And so it was that Peter found Tumnus after his day's studies. Tumnus lounged in a hammock tied between two large oaks in the late afternoon, enjoying the last sun of the day, when a shadow fell across him. Peter stood over him, shading his eyes.

"Hello," he greeted Tumnus warmly. "Comfy?"

"Very," Tumnus replied, laying down A History of English Rule in Foreign Colonies. Spare Oom was quite an extensive empire, Tumnus had learned as he poured through Peter's textbook. "Each moment I discover the most remarkable things about the ways of this place."

"You know how we felt in Narnia, now." A frown creased over Tumnus' face. "I made a phone-call to my cousin's house. My aunt told me that Lucy and Eustace were playing in his room, but she'd give her the message she ought to come home sooner. I told her that you were a friend from school, wanting to visit before heading to University."

"University?"

"It's a sort of higher schooling. A big place to learn, with Professors like ours."

"Oh," Tumnus said. His heart skipped at the mention of Lucy's name. She would be here soon, Peter said so. Tumnus forgot to breathe for a moment and he gasped, coughing. Peter looked at him, worried.

"Want a hand?" Peter extended his hand down to Tumnus and pulled him to a sitting position. Tumnus got out of the hammock, carrying the book carefully.

"I promise, as soon as I can return to Narnia I'll pay you back for the clothes and everything," Tumnus was sincere. Earlier that day, Peter had taken the former faun into town, buying him two pairs of trousers and a few shirts in different colors, a package of undershorts, a pair of heavy leather shoes, and his very own suspenders. Peter had laughed when Tumnus picked out a blue pair, embroidered with red and yellow flowers, but Tumnus did not know why. "Theses are the prettiest," he had insisted, evoking a strange look from the shopkeeper and helpless laughter from Peter. He did not have them over his shoulders now; they hung down by his long legs, clad in deep cream-colored trousers. Tumnus was barefoot (not quite resigned to shoes yet) and his shirt was unbuttoned the first few holes. It was a deep jade green. It reminded him of Lucy's eyes, and he had bought only vivid shirts. Others he now owned were a steel gray, a rich blue, and a crisp white with thin blue stripes (in different shades) running lengthwise down the fabric. Tumnus was enchanted by the clothing here (clothing not a usual thing for him, of course). Peter had let him pick the bright things, delighted by Tumnus' enthusiasm. In the fading sunlight, Tumnus' curls were almost copper. His face was still scruffy and his hair tangled and long, but he was still a treat to look upon to Peter. Peter was amazed at how this transformation had occurred. And he knew immediately that if Lucy did not recall the deep love she'd held for Tumnus in Narnia, she would have no trouble regaining her passion for this handsome, if slightly awkward, young man. Peter shifted guiltily. Part of him wished Lucy would not love Tumnus so; he could picture it all.

* * *

_"She—she does not love me," Tumnus would sob; and Peter would be there, with his arms opened to the distressed Mr. Tumnus. And as Tumnus would clutch at him, Peter would curl a smile over Tumnus' wild hair._

_"It's alright," Peter could tell him at last. "I'm here for you."

* * *

_

His eyes must have been glazed, for Tumnus looked at him worriedly. "Peter? Are you ill?"

"No, it's nothing," Peter recalled himself. "I'm fine."

Tumnus shrugged and scratched at his beard. "You must get a razor," Peter had insisted at the drug store, but Tumnus was hesitant. He had never really encountered one before; he had never needed to shave. Beards stopped growing at a certain point. But Peter had put it into their shopping bag, next to a toothbrush and shampoo and deodorant. Tumnus knew all that he bought, but they looked so different here! He pawed over all the isles, to the great annoyance of the druggist.

"Let's go back to the house and you can have a bath," Peter said, steadying Tumnus gently when he swayed. To Peter, it seemed that Tumnus' skin burned like fire beneath Peter's hand.

When Peter and Tumnus arrived at the house, Peter installed him with two large, creamy towels and drew a bath for him. Tumnus was not used to running water and looked with delight at the tub, but for the life of him could not get water to a temperature that suited. While Tumnus bathed, Peter sat in the hall and read, listening with amusement to the exclamations and splashes coming from the small bathroom.

Tumnus emerged much as Peter had looked the day before, wearing only a towel around his narrow hips. Peter blushed before he could catch himself. He was quite skinny, Peter mused. He was not sure if it was simply his body type, or if he hadn't been eating well. He suspected it was a little of both.

"I forgot to get underclothes before I bathed," Tumnus flushed, and Peter handed him a pair of red-and-white undershorts.

"Put those on," Peter had said, "and then call me when you're ready."

"Ready for what?" Tumnus looked apprehensive.

"For me to help you." And he shut the door in Tumnus' face.

* * *

After a moment, he called Peter's name, and Peter opened the bathroom door. "Go ahead and sit down on the loo," he gestured to the toilet. Tumnus sat and Peter laughed. "Put the cover down first, you goose," and Tumnus smiled sheepishly, only a little embarrassed. He could not be in a bad mood: he was with the High King of Narnia, acting as brothers do, and soon Lucy would join him. He did not know what happened after all that. He would not think about it. 

"What are you going to do?" Tumnus looked nervous.

"I'm going to help you shave," Peter told him calmly, "and give you a haircut."

"I can do that," Tumnus insisted, but Peter just looked at him plainly.

"Have you ever shaved before?"

"No," Tumnus admitted. "I've never had a reason to. I've never grown a full beard."

"You'll want help," Peter assured him. He began working up lather in the wooden bowl by the sink. Tumnus watched him, helplessly. He felt like a child. Peter ran a large brush around the inside of the bowl, and applied the rich cream to Tumnus' cheek. Tumnus jumped.

"It's cold," he exclaimed. Peter chuckled. By Aslan, but he was endearing—Peter stopped himself. Not now. Now was not the time for such frivolous thoughts.

"You're fine, relax," he replied, covering Tumnus' lower face with the lather. He wished he had a camera, to take a picture. No man ever looked more foolish than with a face full of shaving cream. He took up the new razor he'd bought for Tumnus and, with a steady hand, placed it against Tumnus' cheek. "Don't move," he warned, and neatly dragged the razor across his cheek. Tumnus sat stock-still, his pulse racing in his neck.

"It feels queer," he told Peter finally, as Peter rinsed the razor in the stopped-up sink.

"I know. But you get used to it."

"You people in Spare Oom seem to need to get used to a lot," Tumnus observed.

"We had to get used to a lot in Narnia," Peter reminded him, working his way across the left side of Tumnus' face. "Including being royalty."

"That couldn't have been very hard," Tumnus laughed. Peter smiled.

"It was harder than you think," he said softly. "I missed my home. I wondered if I'd ever see my mother or father again. I worried what they'd think—what had happened to us. I was afraid I'd cause them pain." He rinsed the razor again and tipped Tumnus' chin up, to gently shave his neck. "It faded in time. My memories of home left me. That's why it was so strange to us, to find the lamp-post and remember it. Lucy found it—but Lucy has always been special. She has a…a gift, I suppose. She sees things others can not."

"She is a wonderful girl," Tumnus said firmly. He believed it with all his heart. A trickle of the cream slid down the back of his neck, and he twitched. The razor bit into his neck. "Agh!" He clapped a hand to his soapy neck. "You didn't tell me you were going to slit my throat, Peter," he complained.

"Sorry," Peter apologized. "Here. That happens to me all the time."

"I can't imagine why," Tumnus said sarcastically as Peter stuck a bit of tissue paper to the knick.

"Don't move next time," Peter warned.

He finished shaving without further incident. He wiped off the excess soap with an old towel and checked for any stray hair he had missed. After a touchup, he picked up a pair of small silver shears on the cabinet.

"Don't I get to look?" Tumnus asked.

"Not until I'm finished," Peter told him. As he moved around Tumnus, snipping at the long curls, Tumnus asked about Lucy. Everything about her. Peter answered the best he could, but he found he did not know all the answers.

"Which star is her favorite?" Tumnus asked, and Peter drew a blank.

"I don't know."

"You don't know!" Tumnus was shocked. "Why, what's yours?"

"I don't really have one."

"By Aslan, Spare Oom is odd. You have so many extra things, yet you don't know your favorite bits of the world!" Tumnus looked disappointed. "You certainly know the names for them."

"Not really," Peter admitted sheepishly. Tumnus was scandalized.

"You must have forgotten," he declared. "For in Narnia I am sure you knew the stars as well as you know the lines on your palm."

Peter said nothing, not wanting to admit he didn't know the shape his hands took.

"Tonight, I'll show you," Tumnus decided. "You helped me to look more presentable and I'll help teach you the things you forgot."

"I'd like that," Peter told him, and his tone of voice satisfied Tumnus. Peter was ashamed he could not tell Tumnus simple things about Lucy, like the time she was born at or which was her favorite hair clip. Tumnus gloated when he could tell Peter things he did not know about his own sister: that her favorite tea was spiced wonderfully with cinnamon and flavored with orange, that her eyelashes were not black but a soft brown, that when she laughed her nostrils flared out.

"Her middle name is Elizabeth," Peter said at last with pride. Tumnus looked confused.

"Middle name? Why does she need a middle name?"

"It comes between her surname and her given name," he explained. "It's just another way to tell her from another Lucy Pevensie."

"There is no other Lucy Pevensie," Tumnus dismissed the thought. "It's a foolish concept. _You_ don't have a middle name, surely?"

"All four of us do. Most humans do."

"What is yours?"

"Michael."

"What is Susan's?"  
"Rachel," he told him, "and Edmund's is Christopher."

"Strange custom," murmured Tumnus. "Strange as those funny bands you wear tied to your trousers."

"Suspenders; and you wear them too now."

"I suppose I do."

"Finished," Peter said, folding his arms with a flourish and observing his handiwork. "Not bad," he nodded. "Not so well as if Susan had done it, but not bad at all."

Tumnus rose and clattered to the mirror, looking at himself. He did not appear to be sure who the creature in the mirror was, looking back.

"I do not look at all like myself," he said uncertainly. "I do not see how Lucy would recognize me." His curls were shorter, although still unruly, and his smooth face revealed a thin layer of freckles, across his cheeks and the bridge of his long nose.

"She will know you," Peter assured him. "And she will think you the most handsome man she has ever seen." His voice was strong; the voice of a King, Tumnus thought. Peter's hands shook slightly. He gripped the rim of the sink tightly, to steady himself.

"How can you be certain?" Tumnus asked. He looked guardedly at Peter, his eyes large. "How can you know for sure what she will think?"

"Tumnus," Peter said, leading him from the bathroom and turning off the light. "She adored you from the moment she met you, and as time passed she harbored deep feelings for you. She mooned so blindly over someone; we thought she must be living entirely in her own head. And one day, Susan noticed the same look when she talked to you. So, you see, I do know my own sister after all." Peter was pleased. "And if she looked on you fondly as a faun, think of how she will look on you now, with your ten toes and your fine haircut."

Tumnus was silent with the fullness of that thought. His face was lit with an internal smile.

"I shall fetch binoculars," Peter told him, "and we'll go look at the stars. Sound like a good plan?"

"A good plan," Tumnus repeated, and he followed Peter out to the dark lawn.

* * *

The small ship tossed violently in the waves. Around the cabin, a briny wind howled. In the dark, Lucy curled under thin blankets. It had taken her hours to finally fall asleep. She felt as though someone were stealing her rest from her. She tossed fretfully, her thoughts on Tumnus, before she finally succumbed to dreams. 

It was the dream she had each night. You would think, Lucy murmured to herself to the dark after she woke, one would get used to such a dream after so many years.

The woods by the lamp-post, and she was no longer a little girl. And there was her dear Mr. Tumnus, in his red scarf with his parasol, the way he was the first time she ever saw him. His blue eyes were mirrors; in them, a lifetime together.

"How about you come and have a cup of tea with me?" The voice was hollow and echoed, and before her eyes the faun faded. His scarf was a bright slash of red across the white snow of the clearing.

"Tea," she said, and he reached his hand out for hers. It vanished just as she touched it, and every time she woke with a wail.

It startled Edmund, on guard outside her cabin. He slipped into her room.

"Lu," he said gently. "Are you alright?"

"Just a dream," she muttered, indistinct. The lamp Edmund set by her bed hurt her eyes. "Nothing to worry over."

"You dream of Mr. Tumnus every night," Edmund sighed. "Don't you suppose you'll have to move on?"

"Edmund!" she snapped, tears welling in her eyes. He shushed her, covering her hands with his.

"Sorry, Lu. Sorry. That was cruel and I didn't mean it that way. I meant—don't you think you should have found him by now?"

"I don't know where to look, Ed. Where do I look now? We've been to Cair Paravel and we've been to the lamp-post and he was no where. His cave hadn't been lived in for a hundred years. Where do I look, Ed?"

"Where you least expect it," he answered smoothly, and she blinked in surprise. "It's like Narnia, isn't it? It finds you. Looking for it can only drive it away. He's a part of Narnia, Lu."

"We're a part of Narnia," she said desperately, running her hands through her long hair. "Wouldn't he want to find me?"

"Maybe he's looking for you," Edmund said, gently rubbing the back of Lucy's hands. "Maybe he's looking for you right now."

"Do you think so?"

"Of course. He'd be crazy not to, Lucy. You're his oldest, dearest friend."

"I cannot live without him," she declared.

"Sure you can. You are right now." Edmund watched her, puzzled and sad. He feared that Tumnus was a thing long past.

"No, I'm not. I would know if he was gone. And I can feel part of him, still. It's just a matter of patience, is all," she said briskly. "Now, thank you for your concern. I can go back to sleep, I'm sure."

"Alright," he said skeptically. "I'll be outside if you need me again."

"Thank you, Ed." She squeezed his hands. "I think it's this storm which has me upset. You're a good brother, did you know?"

"Goodnight, Lu. Don't let the storm bother you." He left her cabin, taking the lamp with him.

In the dark, Lucy turned her face to the wall and wept.

* * *

"That is the Summer Triangle," Tumnus said, pointing to three bright stars in the purple sky. "No, not there, just here." He covered Peter's large hand with his own, guiding their index fingers together. Peter's skin prickled; hair stood up along his bare arms. Heat rolled off Tumnus' skin in waves. It was almost more than Peter could bear. "Just there, good." Tumnus released him and Peter heaved a sigh, part relief, part loss. "The bright one, there on the bottom, is called Vega." 

"Vega," Peter repeated quietly, deep blue eyes cast to the heavens. "What's that?" He made an effort to quiet himself.

"The Swan," Tumnus said, barely glancing at it. "Cygnus."

"What's that blurry splotch?"

"The seven sisters," Tumnus replied. "They were sent into the sky by their father, to keep them from marrying the men they loved."

"Kind of a jerk, their dad," Peter laughed. He pushed his sleeves farther up, past his elbows, as Tumnus nodded in agreement. Suddenly, Tumnus looked down from the stars. Around them, the darkness shimmered.

"Peter," he said in a low voice. "Did you feel that?"

"No," Peter lowered his binoculars. "Feel what?" The night air rippled around them, ruffling their hair.

"That," Tumnus said, standing to face the dark woods. Peter turned with him. The insects had quieted. Neither cicadas nor crickets shrilled. Even the trees seemed to be paused in listening.

"What d'you reckon—" Peter began, and then suddenly something solid and glowing white rushed passed their side, sending Tumnus swaying. In the darkness, their eyes adjusted, and Peter cried: "Tumnus! The Stag!"

Tumnus whirled, his eyes appearing black in the darkness. Peter had never seen Tumnus angry: he imagined this is what it must look like. It sent a tremor up Peter's spine.

"Come on," Tumnus said, and he began to run. Peter had no choice but to follow.

They chased the Stag up a slick, grassy hill, deep into the night. To Peter it felt like chasing the moon. It certainly looked to any passer-by (like squirrels or cows turned out to graze) that the two men were doing just that. It rose up, swollen and silver, before them. The Stag's outline was black against it; blacker still the forms of Tumnus and Peter.

"It's no use," Peter panted, struggling to keep up with Tumnus.

"I'm not letting it get away again," Tumnus shouted, his voice cracking with impatience. "You can go back if you like."

"I'm staying with you, I promised," Peter replied shortly, and the two fell silent. Peter's mind raced. You are too extraordinary to lose, he said to himself. I won't lose track of you after all this.

The hill crested and the Stag leaped out against it, his antlers scraping the air. A blast of ferocious wind struck Tumnus in the face. He smelled salt and, under that, deep water.

"Peter! The Stag has—"and the Stag vanished into thin air. Tumnus noticed the sky was colored differently, and he thrust his hands through after the Stag. They vanished. "Peter! Come quickly!"  
"What is it? What's happened?"

"Look," Tumnus said, and showed him this rip in the air.

"What, by Aslan—?"  
"I don't know," Tumnus said, "but I must go through."

"Don't be foolish," Peter warned, but Tumnus had tumbled through already. And so, against his better judgment, Peter hiked up his courage and plunged through the hole in the sky.


	5. IV: A Port in the Storm

**IV**

**A Port in the Storm**

The deck of the "Dawn Treader" was slick with oil and dirt as well as with water. The crew skidded over the planks as they bailed, battened down sails, hauled in ropes. Caspian himself stood at the helm, his captain sweating over the steering.

"My Prince, I fear this is the worst storm I've seen in years," sputtered the captain, wiping seawater out of his face as a monstrous wave struck the small ship.

"I must see that our guests are safe," Caspian said, mostly to himself, and hopped down from the wheel to the main deck. Steadying himself as only a King of Narnia can, he fought his way to the cabin at the stern. As he reached the door, Lucy flung it open.

"Is the storm not lessening?"

"No," he said grimly. "You should get below deck, Queen Lucy."

"I am fine right where I am," she said firmly. "I do not fear the sea."

"You ought to," his voice was hard. "Now, come below deck while your brother and cousin help the men on deck."

"And can I not help the men?" Lucy looked hurt and aggravated. Caspian noticed dark circles beneath her eyes.

"Not this time," he said, his voice softer. "Lucy, I would feel much better if I knew you were safe below deck."

"Very well," she sighed. "It is your ship." She bundled herself in a large woolen blanket and tripped down to the hold, Caspian holding her elbow. He helped her to get settled, and left her with a lantern and a book. Lucy curled up on a narrow bunk, shivering. Even the lantern did not make her feel more secure. She settled down to try to read, but her head was with the sailors up on the deck. She worried for Edmund's and Eustace's safety, but there was nothing for it. She thought she heard a muffled shout of surprise, but she ignored it. "All I can do now is wait," she told herself, and opened her book.

* * *

Tumnus fell onto something hard and wet, smashing his nose against wooden planks. He stumbled blindly to his feet, clutching his face. Blood smeared under his fingers. He felt Peter slam to the ground next to him.

"Ho there! What's this?" a rough sailor with black hair looked at them, startled. "Did the storm blow you in?"

"So to speak," Tumnus said raggedly, holding his head up as best he could without getting water down his nose. "Where are we?"

"On the good ship "Dawn Treader"," the sailor told him, offering Tumnus a sopping bandana. "Here, mate."

"Thank you," Tumnus answered. Peter rose shakily. Tumnus offered him a hand and Peter took it gratefully.  
"By Aslan, how many more of you?" he joked. Peter looked at him sharply.

"Are we in Narnia?" the High King asked.

"You most certainly are," the sailor answered promptly. "Or, at least we were before this bloody storm started. No telling where we've blown to." Peter looked up. He could see the clear streak in the air. So, he thought, the hole is still there. "I'm going to get the Prince to see this curious affair. Come along!" Tumnus and Peter looked at one another and followed the man, slipping and sliding across the deck. Their feet were bare and Peter winced as a splinter bit into his left sole.

"Whose ship is this?" he asked the sailor.

"Why, Prince—or King, rather—Caspian's," the sailor sounded surprised. "Certainly you know the new King. The story is legend!"  
"I fear I have not been to Narnia in some time," Peter admitted. The sailor looked interested.

"Oh? Where are you from, then?"

"Spare Oom," Tumnus spoke up. Peter smiled, despite the circumstance.

"Never heard of it," the sailor grunted, making his way to the bow.

"Not many have," Tumnus assured him. Peter looked cross, but patted Tumnus' arm reassuringly.

"Ah! Here is our good Prince Caspian," the sailor said. "Pleasure to meet you, lads."

"Likewise," Peter returned, and the two men both looked up to the new King of Narnia.

Peter dimly remembered him, his lip curling in vague dislike. He was not so unlike Peter: blonde and handsome, obviously brave. He was much younger; Peter guessed not over sixteen. Him again, Peter thought.

"Who are you, now?"

"My name is Peter," Peter spoke up. "I was wondering—this is such an off chance, but—there wouldn't be a woman aboard this ship called Lucy?"

"What business of yours is the Queen?" Caspian looked suspicious.

"My own. And if King Edmund happens to be with her as well, I wish to see him, too. Please." Peter said coolly, and Caspian regarded him with contempt.

"You really do take me for a fool!" Caspian cried incredulously. "It's the middle of a storm, no one even knows I have the King and Queen with me, and you just _happen_ upon my ship?" The boy drew a dagger and pointed it at Peter. "Who are you? Assassins?"

Tumnus felt his heart clench in his chest. He knew Caspian's dagger was no empty threat, but Peter didn't seem bothered by it.

"Peter Pevensie," he said, calmly. "I am here for my siblings."

"I do not believe you to be High King Peter," Caspian said, malice in his voice. "How can you prove it?" At his words, Tumnus was moved to anger, snapped out of his reverie.

"Here!" Tumnus cried suddenly. He ripped open Peter's shirt to reveal the Lion's Head tattoo, such a symbol unmistakable. "I am his servant and you would do well to show respect to him, the King of Kings."

Caspian's jaw dropped, despite his best efforts to control it, and he looked from Tumnus to Peter's chest to Peter's eyes.

"Is that what I think it is?" The dagger fell uselessly at his side.

"Yes, it is." Tumnus looked smug. Caspian paled and shifted uncomfortably. He'd heard the stories.

"I beg your pardon, King Peter." He did not sound like a boy used to apologizing.

"Don't think of it," Peter said. "My siblings?"

"Right," Caspian said, rising. "I shall summon Edmund and his cousin presently. Lucy is in the cabin." And with that, the Prince vanished down the steps, onto the deck.

"I shall fetch her," Peter told Tumnus in a low voice. A distressed grimace settled about his mouth. "You stay out of trouble." And then he, too, was gone.

Tumnus found himself alone on the prow of the ship. He looked across the rain and the deck, his eyes straining in the dark, blood racing.

By the port, he saw the shining figure of the Stag in the gloom. He hurried towards it but was intercepted by strong arms.

"Mr. Tumnus!" Edmund embraced him warmly. "I did not dream I'd ever see your face again." He frowned suddenly. "But—you are no longer a Faun?"

"It's a long story," Tumnus said glibly. "It is an honor to see you again, King Edmund."

"This is my cousin, Eustace," Edmund introduced the two. Tumnus looked anxiously at the port again. "What is it? You look as though you've seen a ghost," Edmund asked. Tumnus' face was obscure in the dark.

"Do you remember the White Stag? And the story behind it?"

"Of course," Edmund answered, unsure where this was going.

"It is here, on this ship," Tumnus said earnestly. "That is how your brother and I fell through. It tore—a hole in time, I suppose."

"Strange," Edmund said. "Can you see it?"

"No," Tumnus said, forlorn. "I glimpsed it for a moment and now it has gone."

"Well, come," Eustace piped up, a pale boy of fourteen. "It can't have gotten far. No animal would jump into this storm."

"Eustace is right," Edmund said firmly, and the three clattered down the wet stairs, to scour the deck.

* * *

Peter threw open the cabin door, and although he spotted Lucy's belongings and clothes, he did not find his sister.

"Are you looking for the Queen?" A man hurrying by asked.

"Yes," Peter said gratefully.

"Caspian installed her under deck," he told Peter. "Safer down there."

"Thank you," Peter called, after the sailor pointed out the hold's doors. He wrenched the wet, clammy wood up and nearly fell down the steep steps to the darkness inside. He shut the storm door firmly behind him.

"Edmund?" Lucy's thin voice came out of the dark; Peter spotted a pinprick of watery yellow light.

"Lu?" He made his way to her voice and she hushed, listening.

"Peter?" her voice was rich with wonder. "Peter, that—that _can't_ be you!" She leapt up and found his arms, hugging him fiercely. "However did you get to Narnia again?" Her face was alight with joy. "Oh, Peter, isn't it wonderful?"

"There is not time now to explain," Peter shushed her. "Come, we must hurry. You must come home, you and Edmund and I suppose Eustace."

"I can't go home," Lucy looked horrified. "I promised I would help Prince Caspian on his quest!"

"Where are you going?"

"To the end of the world, I suppose," she laughed.

"Absolutely not," Peter forbade it. "You're coming home with me." He grabbed Lucy roughly by the arm. "Come on."

"Peter, you're hurting me!" she cried. "Stop it—Peter!" she wrenched her arm free. "What's come over you?" Her wet hair hung limply down her back. "Do not treat me like a child!" she looked furious. "You do not control me, Peter Pevensie!"

"Very well, I'm sorry," he said, "but Lucy, there is no time. We have to go."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you now!" Peter very nearly yelled. "Hurry, for I do not know how long the hole will last."

"Hole?" Lucy was confused. "Peter, what are you talking about?" He did not reply. He simply caught her hand, wrapped the blanket about her like a shawl, covering her head, and pulled her through the storm doors.

* * *

On deck, Edmund, Tumnus, and Eustace fruitlessly searched for the White Stag. Edmund turned, as the howling wind carried Peter's calls.

"We must go," Edmund said briefly, and the three men turned. Tumnus felt his heart leap. By Peter's side, there was a shapeless figure that must be Lucy.

"Hurry," Peter said, pushing the shrouded Lucy towards her brother. Edmund caught her and pulled himself and his sister up through the hole in the air. Eustace followed.

"Where are you taking them?" came a fierce cry, and Tumnus turned to look at Caspian, descending upon them in fury.

"We are going home," Peter said firmly, getting ready to climb through the hole himself.

"High King or not, you are _kidnapping_ my guests!" Caspian cried, laying hold of Peter's collar. Peter lost his balance and tumbled through the hole, dragging Caspian with him. Tumnus stared, but he saw the storm rippling around the rip in the sky. Knowing he must hurry, Tumnus threw himself through. He was spinning, and suddenly, he hit the ground.

* * *

Tumnus opened his eyes. He sat under the clear night sky, on the cool grass, his clothing soaked through. His wet hair was chilly against his skin. On the grass to his side, Edmund and Eustace. Farther away stood Peter, arguing violently with Caspian. And by Peter's feet, the sopping blanket around her shoulders, sat Lucy.

Tumnus stopped breathing for a moment. There are fragments of time that you remember all your life. This was such a moment for Tumnus. He tried to stand and found he had forgotten how to work his legs. He crawled forward a pace, and then stopped. He could hardly see. He feared that, at this crucial instant, he would go blind. He felt his chest swelling, despite himself. His throat blocked up. He was hopeless.

Lucy sat shivering in the grass, her head spinning. Traveling through air and time is not the easiest on the body, you can imagine. Edmund rested heavily against his cousin. Only Peter and Caspian, it seemed, had strength to do anything. They could not fight, Lucy could tell. They were too tired. Peter appeased his temper by shouting. She feared he would wake whoever's house this was.

"Are we in England?" Edmund asked dimly. Peter looked away from Caspian for a moment.

"Yes," he replied. "At the Professor's."

"Oh! The dear Professor!" Lucy's lilting voice piped. "Oh, shouldn't we go greet him?"

"It seems we took someone back with us by mistake," Peter growled, facing Caspian again, irritation clear on his face.

"You're the one who tried to kidnap the King and Queen of Narnia," Caspian pointed out.

"I _am_ a King of Narnia," Peter spat, his voice venomous. "I have no need to kidnap anyone. You happen to be an unfortunate bi-product of an unfortunate situation. Now, do you really think I have need for an arrogant little snot like you?"  
"How should I know?" Caspian's gray eyes were narrowed. "You're the sick mastermind here."

"Stop it," Edmund said shortly. "You're upsetting Lucy. This is no place to talk, anyway. Let's get inside and get dried off. I assume our things are still here, Peter?" Edmund and Lucy were supposed to join Peter here, anyway, before their parents returned home.

"Yes, I should think so," Peter said, and suddenly he remembered Tumnus. He looked towards him, where he sat on the grass, weakly. Peter's heart fluttered. Well, he thought, now we'll see if time weakens love. Across the grass, Edmund watched his brother quietly.

Tumnus could not tear his eyes from Lucy.

"Lu? There's a lot to explain," Peter said, swallowing nervously.

"What do you mean?"

"Lucy—" Peter began, but a hoarse cry interrupted him.

"Lucy," Tumnus said, and finally Lucy turned her green eyes towards the last figure on the grass. Her whole world was swallowed up in a moment.

They say that love is blind. Tumnus would disagree. If you were to ask him, he would tell you that he was blinded by Lucy. All the fire in the world could not burn as he did for her. Just her smile lifted him too high. The danger of falling and shattering into a million pieces was very real.

She looked at him, her eyebrow arched. That voice. "How about you come and have a cup of tea with me?" said the young man's blue eyes to her.

All flashed before them. Tumnus felt her hand in his while he slept. And somewhere in the past, the ghost of lips brushing Lucy's forehead. Same place, different time. Tumnus knew that now. All his life he had been next to her. He had not been able to see her and he could never quite touch her. But some things are stronger than the stuff of clocks.

"Lucy," he said again desperately, his voice breaking. He could barely see. Her scent came strongly to him—a peculiar smell of ocean and pine trees, a tiny spring breeze carrying all the petals it could hold. "Lucy, don't—don't you know me?"

She stared blankly at him. A lullaby in her head, rocking her as mother's arms would. He opened his mouth to speak, and no words came out.

Finally, Caspian turned from Peter with derision, and he noticed the wet, frazzled-looking man on the grass, whose eyes seemed ready to fall out of his skull.

"Who is this? He is not one of my sailors." Caspian stared at him, haughty gray eyes demanding an answer. "Well? What's your name?"

"…Tumnus," he answered at last. Flustered, he shifted his gaze unwillingly from Lucy and met that Prince's gaze. "My name is Tumnus. I am a citizen of Narnia."

Lucy stood up; dress cold in the night air, rough woolen blanket slipping from her shoulders. "How about you come and have a cup of tea with me?" echoed in her head. She ran forward stiffly, eyes on his strange, handsome face, and when she reached him she threw herself against him. Tumnus fell back on the cold grass. Her arms almost broke his bones.

"Mr. Tumnus," she whispered, burying her face in his neck. He clutched onto her and did the only thing he could think to: he laughed.

"Lucy." No bothering with formality, no fussing about titles. Lucy and Tumnus and that was all.

Peter had stopped bickering with Caspian, and the four of them—Edmund, Peter, Eustace, and the Prince— regarded this scene quietly. Neither brother looked surprised (though Edmund thought he saw Peter's smile falter), but Caspian sputtered in confusion. "What—what are you doing? Unhand her! She is a Queen of Narnia!" He moved to yank Tumnus to his feet, but Edmund clasped his elbow and stayed his advancement. "You would do well to show respect."

"You will respect Mr. Tumnus," Edmund said quietly and sternly. "He is Lucy's oldest, dearest friend."

Lucy and Tumnus ignored them all. Her hands were in his hair and she grinned, unable to control her expressions. Her hands were hot against his scalp. He remembered watching her asleep in front of his fire. Boiling up in him was hate for the witch, but more even was love for this girl. She accepted him immediately and just as he was. He had never known someone to be so forgiving.

"_I can't do it to you," he murmured in his memory, watching the thin eyelids flutter in the enchanted firelight. "I can't give you up."_

"I was not Lucy without you," she said, smoothing back his wet hair.

"You flatter me," he murmured, pushing her long hair behind her shoulders. He felt like a child, mimicking her. He did not know what else to do.

"What has happened to you?" she asked, picking at his furless hands. "You are…"

"I am a Son of Adam now." He pulled her to her feet, still laughing between words. "We will explain everything when we get you inside and dried off."

"Well spoken," Peter agreed (perhaps too loudly), and he turned with Eustace, Edmund and Caspian to the house. The shouting and the ruckus had woken the Professor and lights blazed in the windows. Tumnus pulled Lucy's head to his chest as they stood for a moment, clasped with the fullness of each other.

"I missed you with everything I am," he said. His voice trembled.

"I am here now."

"I almost miss you standing right here."

"My dear," she took his hands in hers. "We could not be closer than we are now." He rested his forehead against hers. "Come," she told him finally. "To the house, and then we'll talk."

"I can't seem to move," he whispered.

"Are you ill?"

"No," he told her. "I am full."


	6. V: Unraveling

_A/N: Hope you are all enjoying my story, although I know many of you are surprised and dismayed with the direction it's taking. Have no fear—this is a chapter of resolutions _:) _Also, a comment on my snooty Caspian: I never liked him in the books, I always thought he seemed fake and underneath his thin exterior lurked a huge snob. So, that is my characterization (it's not exactly the best one, but I enjoy it). Also, I'm not meaning to imply any other pairing in this chapter, although one may or may not manifest itself depending on how you interpret it (I won't say who, as to not spoil anything). Lastly, thank you all so much for your reviews—critiques and compliments equally valuable!—and I hope you continue to read and love this as much as I love writing it for you. Enjoy!_

**V**

**Unraveling**

Tumnus felt as though he were floating (he imagined at least that this, surely, must be what floating feels like) as the six made their way to the Professor's lit windows. His hand clasped Lucy's tightly and their knees brushed as they walked, slowly, her cold shoulder against his arm. The brothers Pevensie walked before them; shortly behind, the tall blonde Prince and the small cousin. Tumnus barely registered any of it; his head was bent to Lucy's hair. He could not speak. He could hardly draw breath. It seemed a hundred years since he had seen Lucy (and, he reasoned, perhaps it _has_ been, with this queer time).

Lucy, for her part, was just as pleased, although slightly more preoccupied. Tumnus had startled her, and she did not handle surprises as gracefully as she once had. These human fingers twined with hers—she didn't know how to feel about it. Could it really be Tumnus? She felt uneasy. Could he look so different and be the same Faun she loved?

"Are you tired, my dear?" he asked her. For no real reason, he felt foolish. He sensed her unease and quietly loosened his hand in hers. I ought to let go completely, he said to himself, and then didn't. "You're awfully quiet."

"No, I'm not tired now," she said quickly. "Well, I mean, I was—in Narnia, I was exhausted. But I'm not here. I'm not sure if I can close my eyes, even if only for a moment."

"I am wide awake," Tumnus reassured her that it was all right. She laced their fingers tightly again. Tumnus heaved a sigh of relief. "I was afraid you would not know me," he said in a low voice.

"I would know you in any world," she soothed him. "Although I do admit you surprised me a deal." They mounted the steps to the house. "I may not be tired, but I am chilled through."

"Have a bath," Tumnus urged. "I did just earlier. It's a lovely bath." Lucy laughed and Tumnus did not care how foolish he seemed; she laughed and it was just for him. He tucked it into his heart where all his greatest treasures were. Memories, you see, last longer than green eyes ever do.

"Warm water will do you good," Peter said, appearing at Lucy's elbow. "And dry clothes." Lucy looked from Tumnus to her brother and back again, her face torn. Peter laughed aloud. "He's not going anywhere, Lu, I promise. We wouldn't show you him only to take him away again."

"I'll be here," Tumnus agreed, and squeezing her hand once, he released her to her brother.

"Come," Edmund said genially, putting his hand on Tumnus' arm. "Let's fix some tea and talk to the Professor. We'll be in the den," he said, to Peter. Peter nodded and steered Lucy to the bathroom.

* * *

"Peter," she said, her eyes finally torn from Tumnus' retreating back. "Can you explain any of this?" 

"Wouldn't you rather Tumnus did?"

"I want to know now," she demanded in a soft voice, and as Peter fetched her a clean dress and towels, he explained the remarkable events. Lucy listened, her arms full of towels, eyes on Peter. "That is…quite a story," she said finally, green eyes round.

"Yes," Peter agreed. There was a long silence. "Lu," he said finally.

"Hm?"

"What now?" A frown crossed Lucy's forehead.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, now what? Between you and Tumnus? Are you—well?" Peter blushed, fussing with shampoo near the tub's lip. Lucy grinned.

"Are you asking about my love life, dear brother?"

"You never struck me as old enough to have one," he said grimly, "but I suppose if you must, then yes, I am."

"I don't figure it's much of your business." Peter looked at her very seriously.

"Lucy, listen to me now," he said earnestly, and his tone worried her. "Are you listening?"

"Yes," she said, uncertainly. Something in his face distressed her. Peter looked—for the first time Lucy could remember—helpless.

"You must be positive, when you make this choice." Peter's blue eyes were round with worry. "You must be surer than anything."

"Why?" She looked confused. "Why must I make any decision?"

"Lu," Peter's voice was incredulous. "You can't be serious. Isn't it obvious?"

"Isn't _what_ obvious?" Lucy said, exasperated. "What am I missing here?"

"Lucy, Tumnus is in _love_ with you." Peter's blue eyes were deeper than any ocean.

"We're only dear friends," she said finally.

"But—" Lucy took the towels and placed them by the tub. Hanging the dress on a hook, she turned back to Peter, her eyes colder than he'd ever seen them.

"But nothing, Peter. I am nearly eighteen years old. You can't always decide what is best for me." She twisted up her hair and pinned it. "Some things I must figure out on my own. In this case, Mr. Tumnus and I must work them out. You can't always have things worked out nicely and quickly, Peter. I don't think it will work like that."

"But if he loves you and you love him, what is there to work out?"

"I don't know if I love him," she snapped. "He is not…he's not the Mr. Tumnus I have dreamt about."

"He's a man!" Peter cried; Lucy hushed him.

"Yes," she agreed. "And I did not fall in love with a man, and oh, Peter, it's been such a long time…" her face was woebegone. Peter sighed and pulled her to him, kissing her deep red hair.

"Bath first," he told her. "Life-changing decisions later." She laughed weakly and shut the door. Peter leaned against it and sighed, pushing his hands through his hair. "Why can't anything be easy?" he asked the mirror across from him. _I'm here for you. _It winked innocently in the electric lights. "Some help you are." With that, he left Lucy in peace and returned to the men, scrubbing his eyes hard.

* * *

Tumnus was pacing. His feet padded softly on the carpet before the hearth; Edmund and Caspian followed him with their eyes. His movement made them nervous (Eustace, exhausted and sensing this was not his business, had retired to bed in Edmund's room). 

"Tumnus," Edmund said in a low voice. "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," he said distractedly. He had changed to dry clothes, as they all had.

"You're driving me up the wall," Caspian growled. Edmund shot him a look.

"Calm down, mate," Edmund said gently. "Here, sit. Have a cup of tea."

"I don't want any bloody tea," Tumnus growled. Edmund blinked in surprise. Caspian arched a narrow eyebrow at the young man.

"Come, take a walk with me," Edmund said, standing. Tumnus followed him out of the room, passing the Professor in the hall as he hurried to talk with Caspian. Edmund led Tumnus to the empty kitchen. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the empty table. Tumnus shook his head. "Now, what's eating at you?"

"Lucy," it was nearly a wail. "Did you see how she looked at me?"

"With her eyes?" Edmund guessed. Tumnus frowned.

"Like she was…disappointed with what she saw."

"She's just surprised. She's so happy to find you, are you kidding? You're all she ever spoke about." Edmund looked at Tumnus warily. Of course, he reasoned, Tumnus must get angry like any man; he had never seen the faun—human?—upset more than fear. This was worse than plain fear; this was rage and self-loathing, this was hatred. The door creaked.

"Hullo," Peter said. "What's going on? Caspian said you two went this way."

"Someone's upset," Edmund murmured, but Tumnus turned on him, flaring up.

"Don't you judge me, Edmund Pevensie! Don't you dare judge me!" his voice was shrill, and in the bathtub, Lucy perked up, curious. "You have no idea how it feels to want something so badly that can never happen!

"Yes, I do," Peter interjected quietly. Edmund looked sideways at his older brother but Tumnus raved on, oblivious.

"You don't know what it's like to lose all hope and suddenly find your one desire granted, only the reason you wanted in the first place has vanished! I wish—I wish I'd never left Narnia," he choked bitterly. "This world is no good for me." Edmund glanced at Peter, helplessly. Peter quelled him with a look. "All I ever wanted was to be a Son of Adam! For _her_! I wanted to be something she could love, not some filthy forest-dweller. How could a faun be good enough, ever, for any girl—let alone a queen! What does one do, when no more than a foot from you is the center of your world? And she doesn't even know you're alive! What does one do?"

You tell me, Peter begged silently.

"And so, desperately, I prayed each night to Aslan to make me something more than just a faun to her. And I waited for her to grow old enough to understand. I loved your sister," he spoke with venom, "from the moment I saw her. And now that I can have her as is intended, she won't look at me as she used to! That she had stayed a child," he gasped, eyes bleary with tears. "That she had stayed a child with all the affection in Narnia for me! Affection without romantic love: even that is something. That is more than I ever dreamed to have!" He looked about piteously and he made his escape, quick as he could, banging up the stairs to the attic, where the wardrobe stood, serenely unaware of the turmoil it caused—or maybe?

"Peter," Edmund said, dazed. Peter shook his head.

"Go tend to the others," he said forcefully, and he lit up a candle, making after Tumnus. "I'll take care of him." Edmund left the kitchen.

* * *

Peter opened the door quietly. The wardrobe was ajar; on the floor lay Tumnus, shoulders heaving. Peter shut the door with a squeak, holding the candle aloft. The light from the moon outside and the flickering flame illuminated his silver back, his shirt rumpled. 

"I can't get back in," he sobbed. Peter sat down on the floor next to him.

"Why are you feeling so hopeless?" he laid a hand gently on Tumnus' forearm. Tumnus jerked it away.

"How would you feel, if you were me?"

"Happy," Peter answered honestly. "Happy and full of hope. You have found her. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"No," Tumnus raised his wet face to Peter. In the queer light, his eyes were the same silver as the moon and his shirt. "I wanted to be hers. I wanted her to be mine."

"People don't belong to other people," Peter admonished gently. Tumnus looked shocked.

"Of course they do." Peter thought for a moment about that, then shook his head.

"It isn't if you've got hooves or feet that matter," he consoled him. "It's the love." Peter silenced his own heart.

"This is not who I am!" Tumnus' words came out sharply and sudden, like a goat's bleating. "I could be so much to her like this. I could be a real man—_her_ man." His entire frame shook. Peter did not know what to say. He raised his arm to comfort Tumnus but it fell short and dropped uselessly to Peter's side, heavy and lifeless. "I'm not a man," Tumnus whispered. "I'm only playing at it."

"You look like a man to me," Peter said heartily.

"I'm not," Tumnus sat rocking, repeating it to himself. His strange silver eyes were leaking tears and his nose was red. The grandfather clock downstairs was chiming 1 a.m. but Peter ignored it. This might take all night.

"D'you think Lucy cares what you look like?" Peter tried to ignore the conversation he'd had with her in the bathroom. "You're her Tumnus." Peter finally got his arms about Tumnus' shuddering shoulders. "She can't help but love you."

"Why can't I get back to Narnia?" Tumnus looked forlornly at the wardrobe. "Why can't I get back home?"

"You're not meant to yet," Peter said. "You won't go back to Narnia until you're finished here."

"I wish I was finished," Tumnus said shortly. "I wish I'd never met your dear sister. If only I hadn't gone past the lamp-post that day!"

"But you did," Peter said firmly, "and nothing will change that. Nothing can change who you love—and who you don't."

"No matter what I do," Tumnus said, "I will never be good enough for Lucy."

"Oh, shut it." Peter reached out and squeezed Tumnus' thin shoulders. "She is Lucy and you are Tumnus and this has been in the making for ten years—a hundred or more, if we count all the time ever passed between the two of you. What are you worrying for?"

"I can't help to but," Tumnus sniffed loudly, finally allowing Peter to hold him. "I don't know why, but I can't help feeling like somehow this will crumble. After so much, even this will break." Peter savored the moment, this young man in his arms. He smoothed the wrinkles from Tumnus' worried brow and, bravely (he thought at least), kissed him upon his curly hair.

"You will know nothing unless you go back downstairs and see her," Peter told him. "She is waiting for you." Tumnus said nothing of the kiss. He felt, more than ever, like Peter's brother—like his equal. It was quite a new sense for Tumnus, and inside of himself he felt the faintness stirring of hope that somehow, maybe, everything would turn out all right.

"I am afraid," Tumnus admitted.

"Don't," Peter said shortly. "Some people would die for a situation like you and Lucy find yourselves in."

"Like who?"

"Like me," Peter said, and Tumnus said nothing. He didn't have to.

"Now, afraid!" Peter's voice was gruff, hiding his breaking heart. "A great man like you!" Peter scolded. "For shame. Now stop crying. We'll neaten you up," he said, wiping the tears from Tumnus' eyelashes, "and you'll be good as new. Things will get better. Yes?"

"Yes," Tumnus weakly smiled. He didn't know what to think—about Peter, about anything. All he wanted was Lucy.

"Good," Peter sighed. "There's nothing to fear just yet." Except the crumbling of my own heart, Peter cried in his head—but perhaps even that, too, would end up all right.

* * *

In the bathroom, Lucy had carefully brushed her long, ember-red hair, smoothing it until it shone like a mirror. She pulled on a lawn dress, white with tiny flowers, and worried her face in the vanity. She paused to rummage in Susan's makeup, rouging her lips and darkening her brown eyelashes. She fussed with her hair again and, finally, smoothing her skirt repeatedly, opened the bathroom door and headed to the den. She smelled tea brewing and a fire, and she picked up an awkward skip-walk-run, eager to get to the fire where Tumnus awaited her. She threw herself in. There was no Tumnus. 

Lucy's face fell as Edmund turned to her. He almost laughed, thinking how horrifying the scene must be to Lucy. He took her hands and led her to the sofa.

"Tumnus is changing," he told Lucy. She felt better; her smile lifted again. She settled down after a warm hug to the Professor to wait for her Tumnus.

It was nearly two-thirty before Tumnus and Peter emerged from the attic. Tumnus was still rather fuzzy at the edges; under his eyes, dark circles bloomed like bruises. His hair was snarled and Peter rested his hand against the small of Tumnus' back. A creak on the stairs summoned Edmund, dark eyes distressed.

"There you are," he spoke in a low voice. "Lucy is fretting," and he proceeded the two back to the den. The fire burned merrily and in front of it Caspian and the Professor sat, on plump pillows on the floor. On a rickety red couch perched Lucy. The Pevensie boys seated themselves by Caspian, and the Prince began the tales of his most recent adventures with the two youngest royals. Tumnus hesitated and then sat quietly next to Lucy, careful not to touch her. She saw that in his fist was clenched an old white handkerchief. The hand closest to her lay limply on the cushion, and as Lucy watched Caspian's face in the flickering firelight, she reached out and covered Tumnus' hand with her own.

* * *

The sun rose. 

Emptiness flared in Peter as he watched the quiet group around the fire. Edmund leaned heavily against his shoulder, breathing slowly in and out. It was a vague comfort. Edmund had always (although he hated to show it when they were younger) looked up to Peter. It made him feel—what? What exactly, Peter thought crossly, am I trying to accomplish with any of this? With Edmund, with Lucy, with Tumnus—with life? What is the whole point? Peter sighed, low. No one paid attention to him. Tumnus and Lucy—well. Forget them ever having attention for anyone else.

Am I _jealous_? Peter wondered, surprised at the thought. Is it possible I just want the attention of Lucy, or anyone? Edmund stirred at his side. Peter laid his cheek against his brother's dark head.

Edmund. Sweet, proud Ed. Peter felt anger well up. He had always been so cruel, so distrustful of this, his younger brother. It was his fault, the whole ordeal with the Witch. He knew that now, with more certainty than he knew his own name. It was Peter's fault, not Edmund's. Peter was supposed to take care of them all. He had failed, because in his own pigheaded fantasy he did imagine himself the big man, the leader. And when he really _was—_Peter laughed quietly. That was when he knew that love is most important of all. He wrapped a protective arm around Edmund's shoulders.

"You okay?" Edmund murmured. "You've been…"

"Yeah," Peter replied. "Just kind of…em. Well, you know."

"I know." And suddenly, Peter realized Edmund meant that.

"You do?" He looked curiously down at his brother. All others in the room had vanished for Peter. Edmund nodded, eyes still murky with sleep, but he watched Peter carefully.

Edmund knew that, underneath all his bravado, Peter was lonely. Susan and Peter had always been closest and now—Edmund frowned despite himself. Now Susan never had time for any of them. It hurt Lucy immensely (Lucy had always been the most sensitive, Edmund mused, the most in tune with the world and everything in it—which explained why she, of all the Pevensies, had discovered Narnia) but Peter felt it as a personal insult. Edmund understood. Susan was all grown up, twenty-two and beautiful, obsessed with traveling and with making a name for herself. To Susan, even more important than school now was worldly knowledge. In all the excitement of growing up, Susan had forgotten Narnia. Edmund was disappointed, but he saw where she was coming from. Sometimes he got the feeling Lucy didn't. He _knew_ Peter didn't, and never would.

"You've been feeling very…left out, haven't you?" Edmund asked quietly. Peter didn't reply. It didn't surprise Edmund much. Peter was forgiving and could admit when he made mistakes, but he didn't like looking inward at what bothered him most. He's too busy fixing everyone else, Edmund thought, looking at Peter's distressed face and disheveled hair, to think about himself properly.

"Maybe I have," Peter said finally. Edmund patted Peter's knee. Edmund would have extended his arms, but he knew Peter would be embarrassed to cause a scene in the tranquil pre-dawn light.

"I'm here for you, Peter," Edmund said simply. Peter looked sharply at his brother. The words rung in his ears, in the back of his mind, deep in his chest. Edmund continued, choosing to say nothing. "You don't need someone else. Everything you need is right here, in our own little family. Let Lucy have him. He was never yours, or anyone else's, to have at all. He's barely even his own."

"I don't know what it is about him," Peter blurted.

"I know what you mean," Edmund said lowly, urging Peter to hush. "There has always been something about him that draws. D'you know what it is?"

"No."

"Narnia. It's just Narnia, Peter. You want Narnia, not him. It's the same reason you got that tattoo. But you're a part of Narnia, too. That same longing is in you. We all feel it."

"Not Susan."

"Susan's a good girl, Peter. She's just not…she doesn't feel the pull so much."

"And we do?"

"We do. You even more than any of us. More than Lucy, I reckon, even."

"Not more than Lucy."

"I think Lucy was pulled to Tumnus, more than just Narnia. But Peter, it's no surprise you feel so strongly about it. Think about it."

"Maybe I'm crazy."

"No," Edmund said so firmly it surprised Peter. "You're the High King. You _are_ Narnia. But you're a Pevensie, too. You will always have Susan and Lucy and I."

Peter was quiet. Edmund thought he felt his knee shake slightly. And then Peter squeezed the arm he had wrapped around Edmund's shoulders. And Edmund knew Peter would be all right. Peter put his cheek back against Edmund's hair and the two faced Caspian. Peter's arm remained around Edmund.

"I love you, you know," Peter told his little brother.

"I know," Edmund said, and he did.

* * *

Light filled the room, and it revealed a very sleepy group. Edmund had fallen asleep again against his brother's shoulder. Tumnus sat in a daze and Lucy's eyes had lost focus. She stared blankly at the dying embers. Her fingers moved restlessly against Tumnus' palm. The Professor was in low conversation with Caspian. Only the bratty young Prince did not seem worn out. 

Peter stretched and yawned. "I say we ought to turn in," he murmured. Edmund grunted in his sleep. Lucy jerked out of her reverie.

"Yes," she agreed. "Let's." She rose and Tumnus stood with her, his eyes glazed with exhaustion. He swayed slightly, his feet failing him with sleep deprivation. Lucy looked concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," he chuckled, though his voice seemed higher than usual. "Still not quite perfect with these legs."

"You are perfect to me," Lucy insisted, and Tumnus flushed. Peter watched the two, finding himself strangely able to smile for his sister.

"I think," he declared, "that Edmund and I will share a room, since Eustace is sleeping in Ed's." He waited for the pang of his heart, but none came. Startled, he grinned inwardly and continued. "Tumnus, why don't you stay in Lucy's room? On the couch," he added hastily. The Professor hid a smile. Edmund murmured consent.

"Are you certain?" Lucy asked her brother, who nodded. She turned to look up at Tumnus. "Is that alright with you?"  
"I don't mind, if your brothers are fine with it," he said quietly. He looked woozy.

"Very well," she said. "Goodnight."

"Good morning," the Professor said with a wink.

* * *

The two staggered up the stairs, mostly asleep. Lucy opened the door to her room and let down the curtains, hiding the new sun. She shyly took a nightgown out of her wardrobe. Tumnus turned around, politely. She slipped out of her dress, pulling the thin nightgown over her camisole and panties. She shivered. 

"Are you decent?"

"Yes," she laughed. He smiled too, uneasily. "Mr. Tumnus, are you sure you're okay with this arrangement?"

"I don't think I could be away from you right now," he told her.

"Do you have nightclothes?"

"Somewhere in Peter's room," he mumbled, and went to retrieve them. Lucy slid into bed, blowing out the candle on her bed stand. In a moment Tumnus returned, in green-striped pajamas, looking for all the world like a sleepy University boy.

"You are a remarkable creature," she said honestly, not thinking how it might sound.

Inside, part of Tumnus shattered. "Thank you," he muttered. "I wish you good dreams." He sat down on the thin sofa.

"Are you sure you don't want to share the bed?" she blurted. They both turned red. "It's—it's not as though we have any indecency planned." Lucy hoped her hormones could stay themselves for one night.

"Of course not," Tumnus lied through his teeth. And so, creeping slowly to her, he finally reached the bed and hopped onto it, sliding under the comforter. Lucy shivered as cold air hit her. "I'm sorry!" he cried, and he reached out and clasped his arms around her back, pulling her in. He froze with horror, Lucy cuddled against his chest. "Oh—I didn't mean—"

"Goodnight," Lucy said, snuggling close to him, her head pillowed on the crook between shoulder and chest. And Tumnus slowly smiled, enjoying the fullness of the moment before sleep claimed them both.

Neither dreamed. Neither had cause to.

And, curled against Edmund's back in his brother's small bed, Peter dreamed only of a shining set of four thrones, deep forests, and the laugher of two girls and a boy dearer to his heart than all the world.


	7. VI: My Sweetest Friend

_A/N: This story is beginning to wind down, I'm sorry to say. I've taken some liberties with the time switches—bear with me. My beta and I have been working it out as best we can. I do apologize if it's too confusing. This is a "fantasy" piece! _:) _That's our story, at least. Enjoy, please!_

**VI  
My Sweetest Friend**

Lucy woke quietly, eyes adjusting to the light in the room. At first, she did not realize where she was. Beside her, Tumnus sighed in his sleep, and she recalled herself. Gently, so as not to wake him, she shifted on her arms, propping herself on her elbow to look at him. Hesitantly, she pushed a loose curl away from Tumnus' eye. Her lower lip trembled.

What more had she ever wanted? Here in her bed, the only man she had ever loved. His eyelids were thin; Lucy could clearly make out thin blue veins. He looked awfully worn out, she thought with distress. Along his chin, a thin film of stubble. His dark eyelashes made slender crescents above freckled cheeks.

"Have I seen anyone more handsome?" she asked aloud. Tumnus snorted in response, tossing his head away. In sleep, his pajama top had come unbuttoned. Lucy made out a faint blonde fuzz over his sternum; freckles across his clavicle. She flushed at his pale nipples and his abdomen, muscles clear beneath soft skin. Gently she placed her fingertip against his bellybutton. He twitched slightly. He was too tired, Lucy told herself, and she felt dreadful for being the cause. A slow smile crept across her face. She could do or say anything she liked, she realized, and he would have no idea.

Her nimble fingers plucked at his curls and she began tiny braids through his hair. Her nightgown slipped from one shoulder, her green eyes concentrated. The clock chimed three p.m. downstairs.

"Do you know," she murmured, tousling Tumnus' curls, "that you are my dearest friend? I care for no one more than I do you." She tucked a braid behind the curve of his pale ear. "And do you know," she whispered, her lips brushing his forehead, "that I was made for you? I have been waiting all this time," she smoothed the worried lines around his closed eyes, "to simply be with you. And here you are. What more could I ask for? It is true, what they say about Aslan—and it is true that the White Stag brings all answers. For you must have been looking for me. Though I do wish you were still a Faun, just as I met you." She pushed back his hair again, touching the freckles on the bridge of his nose. His eyelashes fluttered. "I knew someday it'd be you and I again." She brushed her fingertips along his cheek and his skin shivered, much as a goat's might. She nearly laughed aloud at how endearing he was.

The door swung open and Peter walked in, his eyes cheerful. He could do this, he told himself. Ed's right. You can be happy for them. And, amazingly, he believed himself. How odd! I never imagined it would be so easy! Peter felt like the world was beautiful again. "Wake up now, you lot—" he stopped. Lucy jerked up from the sleeping Tumnus, eyes wide, and suddenly she realized how this looked: Her long red hair spread over the pillow, Tumnus' disheveled appearance, her askew nightgown, fingers on his face. Peter turned red.

"I said he could sleep on the _couch_!" he bellowed, more shocked than angry and, a small part of him wondered in relief, there was no symptom of loss, no sudden shriveling of his heart. He would have laughed, had his sister's strap been upon her shoulders. Suddenly, he was all too aware of her full breasts and her slender waist, and his stomach twisted in nausea. When had Lucy grown up? When had she turned into this beautiful creature? Where had his mind been, to let her take a man into her bed? He squinted at her, at her gauzy white nightgown, with growing horror. Is that her _nipple?_ Peter jerked away in horror. His little sister. The Pevensie baby. Oh, _Aslan_. Susan would kill him if she ever found out.

His face was the exact color of a tomato, Lucy thought, crossing her arms over her chest in the thin nightgown. She had seen Peter's wide, alarmed eyes.

"Shit," she whispered hopelessly. Tumnus jerked awake.

"_Lucy!"_ Peter couldn't believe it. Had she really just—just _sworn_? He stared at Tumnus, shifting nervously at Lucy's side. He couldn't say anything. The only thing burning in him was a protective feeling for Lucy. He didn't feel his heart flaring for an entirely different reason, as it had in the past days. If he had, he might have laughed. Because he didn't, he almost screamed.

"Er," Tumnus muttered, color creeping into his cheeks. Lucy dropped her hands. "It's not what it looks like, Peter—" Peter stood seething, and Edmund hurried to his side, pulling his bathrobe around himself.

"What's going—? Oh." and he smiled, clapping a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Why, whatever's the matter, brother?" Edmund looked quietly at Peter, wondering how he'd react. He saw no traces of jealously, however—he saw a shielding older brother horrified with the reality of a man in his little sister's bed. Edmund would be horrified himself, but he knew Lucy and he knew Tumnus. And Peter's face was really too priceless. Edmund longed for a camera.

"I can't deal with this," Peter declared, throwing up his hands in a rather dramatic fashion (Quite like Susan, Edmund chuckled to himself), and stormed from the room. Tumnus smiled sheepishly at Edmund. Edmund waved his hand.

"It all right," he explained, "you'd understand if you had a little sister." Lucy laughed nervously.

"It _is_ time to get up, though," he looked at Tumnus. "The Professor wants to talk to you."

"Be there soon." Edmund left them alone. Tumnus blushed deeply and Lucy laughed.

"You look so queer," she said with mirth, and Tumnus put his hands up to feel his head.

"Is this what you do to everyone while they sleep?" he teased her, unraveling one of the braids with his fingers.

"Just you," she assured him. He sighed, looking at her, and dropped his hands. He leaned in, despite his inner voice's scolding, and kissed her on the crown of her red hair. She pushed against his mouth. "Won't you ever kiss me properly?"

He looked embarrassed. "I don't think Peter would like that," he made excuse.

"I don't really care what Peter thinks," she said plainly, and her eyebrow arched at him. She got up and gestured for him to turn his head, pulled her nightgown off without ceremony once he did. Yanking open the curtains, Lucy squinted in the sudden assault of sunlight. She pulled on a thin skirt and a green cotton sweater, turned around, and stood for a moment, watching him watching her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked him, her eyebrow arched.

Tumnus blushed.

* * *

The door slid shut with a dry squeak. The day was bright as Lucy and Tumnus made their way down the stairs to breakfast. Or is it dinner? Lucy wondered. She smelled eggs and tea brewing. Tumnus was quiet at her side.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he replied softly. "Can we…can we go somewhere? To talk?"

"About what?"

"Just talk," Tumnus shrugged. He felt near to bursting. It wasn't fair, he reasoned with himself, to keep her going like this. She needed to know. He was stern with himself. It's wrong of you to keep acting like you have a chance. Stop it and be a—a man. Admit it; let her laugh, move on.

"Of course, Mr. Tumnus," she said kindly. She could tell something was bothering him. They slipped out the back door, unnoticed by her brothers. The Professor caught them out of the corner of his eye, but he remained silent.

Lucy and Tumnus hurried across the yard to the low stone wall, separating forest from grass. He helped Lucy over the slippery, moss-covered stones. Both were barefoot. Her skirt caught on a low branch of a tree and he stopped to untangle it. He was quiet, moving branches out of her face. He didn't know where she was leading him.

To be honest, Lucy had no idea where she was going, either. A soft carpet of dead leaves and pine needles cushioned her tender feet. She felt safe, with Tumnus at her back. She stumbled upon a small, busy creek, noisily making its way through the wood. She sat on a large log jutting over the bank, and patted the damp wood at her side. Tumnus lowered himself next to her.

"Lucy," he blurted, "I have not been completely honest with you."

"Oh?" she looked surprised, her eyes finding his. "Do tell me."

"I've been acting…well, as a friend."

"Should you not be?" her eyes were round. "Do you not wish to be my friend?"

"No, no, that's not it at all," he said hurriedly. Stupid Faun, he growled to himself, not even thinking how your words come out! "It's only…well. I suppose you ought to know it plainly. I feel stronger for you than I ought to." He hung his head. He watched their bubbling reflections in the moving water. Red crept over his cheeks. He nearly cried from how frustrated he felt. Beside him, Lucy glowed like the water, sun bouncing off her. She is so bright, he thought with wonder, that the sun pales compared to her.

"I don't believe you," Lucy said simply, eyes gazing across the creek.

"But—I'm telling you, Lucy." He furrowed narrow eyebrows. "I'm telling you that I feel too much."

"You can never feel too much, my sweetest friend." She looked to his profile, studying his long, thin nose. "You're being silly, Tumnus. What could possibly make me feel differently for you?"

"I love you," he blurted. "I love you, Lucy Pevensie. I have since the day you first frightened me at the lamp-post. Do you remember? I've thought of you each night, of you and I, and I've waited so long for us to be closer in age—I've waited through everything. I've waited for you. But I know it's foolish. There's no way that…" his voice cracked and he stopped, lost for words.

Lucy said nothing. She looked at him still: the curl of his ear, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. Long, black eyelashes framed those eyes, so like the sky. She had always wanted blue eyes, but she would never have his be anything else.

"I should go," Tumnus said, beginning to rise.

"Where will you go?" she asked him, quietly.

"I'll return to Narnia and you can forget me."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Why—why would you not?" Tumnus' voice wavered, looking at those piercing green eyes then. He felt frozen, paralyzed; he could not move if his life depended on it.

"Why would I stay away from what I've been longing to hear for so long?" Tumnus' mouth dropped open, and Lucy met him suddenly, lips soft against his.

It was the first kiss Tumnus had ever received that mattered, and he would never forget it. I have heard it once said there are only a few kisses the world remembers. This was one of them.

Tumnus pulled her chin in, hand cupping her jaw. Her hands found his curls and tangled in them, long fingers tugging gently. Their mouths moved tentatively against each other's. How tender! How pure! Lucy tilted her head, and Tumnus felt the ghost of teeth against his lower lip. It deepened. It softened. The creek below them babbled, moving ever on, their reflections swirling into one smear of green and golden-red.

Neither knew how long it lasted. An eternity; not long enough. One of those moments time stands still for.

"We really ought to be getting back," Tumnus said breathlessly. Lucy regarded him with eyes the color of oak leaves.

"Yes," she agreed, "but I don't want to just yet." She leaned her head upon his shoulder. They sighed in tandem, content.

"Lucy," he murmured.

"Hm?" she asked. Her brown lashes glowed gold in the filtered sunlight.

"You could have so much more than me," he ventured. She shushed him, waving her hand.

"I don't want anything else. I only want everything you are." He shook slightly. It was sweeter than all he'd imagined, in his million far-away daydreams. He felt as though he were melting.

"You could have it all," he protested, smiling, simply to hear her say she wanted him again. It felt fresh and exciting and he knew, now, he would die without this feeling.

"I'm not so picky. Just you."

He gathered up his courage and then he kissed her, showing her what he could not say with mere words.

Perhaps that is the best thing about kisses. Mouths say more when they are silent, for you can feel the meaning.

* * *

Peter was not eating his breakfast—or dinner?—, Edmund noticed. Edmund finished chewing his toast and jam, and swallowed.

"What's wrong?"

"They ought to be here by now," he muttered darkly. Edmund smiled around a forkful of eggs. Peter was fine, Edmund could tell. He understood everything perfectly. Edmund recalled how peaceful Peter had looked when he woke, curled next to Edmund. Edmund was cheered. Everything would work out all right, after all.

"Missing your sister?" the Professor asked, as he took his seat at the table. "I expect they'll be in presently. The door was closed; I didn't think I should knock. Doors remain closed for reasons, you know." Edmund looked over at the wise old man. His face said everything. He presented the opportunity to tease. Doors can be closed easily. Edmund choked on his tea, laughing. What boy hasn't found glee in torturing his elder brother? The Professor hid a chuckle into his own breakfast—or dinner.

Peter dropped his head onto the table. Edmund and the Professor roared with laughter.

"What's so funny?" Eustace wanted to know, coming down. The professor was going to take him to the train station, to be retrieved by his worried mother. Peter had phoned to tell her that he and Lucy had dropped in (quite unexpectedly).

"Nothing," Edmund said quickly. "Just a joke." The Professor nodded and the two left, to get in the car and head Eustace home.

"Must have been quite a good one," Caspian said, settling down to eat. "I could hear you all the way upstairs."

"It was," Edmund assured him, and the two ate in silence. Peter couldn't bear to pick his head up. "Peter's feeling a little ill," Edmund explained kindly to Caspian.

"More than a little," Peter croaked. Not long after they'd finished and begun the dishes, the Professor returned. The four men had retired to the sun room, sitting pleasantly on wicker furniture, when Lucy and Tumnus made their awkward arrival. Their hands were firmly gripped together. Their hair was wind-blown. Edmund shook his head, with a smile. Sometimes doors hide no skeletons. Sometimes they're closed just because. It's what can't be closed that hides the most. The world is large and it keeps its secrets closer than doors ever can. Edmund knew.

"Good afternoon, you lie-a-beds," the Professor chortled. "Now that you're here, we can get down to business."

"What business?" Lucy asked, seating herself. Tumnus nearly sat in her lap, the closeness so impenetrable.

"Why, sorting out what's happened to dear Mr. Tumnus." The Professor sounded surprised. Tumnus turned red.

"Nothing's happened," he protested.

"I was talking about your strange transformation, lad," the Professor said kindly.

"Oh," was all he could say. Lucy squeezed his hand gently. Peter moaned miserably, covering his eyes with his palms.

"Are you alright, Peter?" Lucy asked.

"Ngh," he muttered to Lucy. She curled her lip. Tumnus looked at the Professor.

"I've never known any inhabitant of Narnia survive for long in this world," the Professor said plainly. "There has only been one—and she was a witch. Yes, that Witch," he told Edmund's startled look. "It's strange, but it's how these worlds work. Nor," he added, his face blank, "have I met a citizen of Earth who could live long in Narnia."

"What are you saying?" Edmund asked quickly, his dark eyes concerned. The Professor cleared his throat.

"I mean to say that Mr. Tumnus' days here are limited. Don't you wonder why that Stag you were searching for has not returned?"

"A little," Tumnus admitted. "Not lately."

"It's died," the Professor said blandly. "Either that, or stayed in Narnia when you all came back through the hole. It sensed that it could not survive here."

"Why?" Lucy cried. She was distressed, face paling beneath fair cheeks.

"It is a matter of time and magic," the Professor looked straight at her in answering. There was a deathly silence that threatened to swallow the room. "In the case of the Stag: well, that is an entirely magical being. In the case of Mr. Tumnus—and, it must be said, in the case of your Prince here—it's a matter of time. Do you realize how long creatures of Narnia live? How old your Mr. Tumnus will live to be?"

"I believe it's about eight or nine hundred years," he replied shyly. The Professor nodded.

"On average, yes, that's the lifespan for most citizens of Narnia. But here?"

"Wouldn't that make it millions of years?" Edmund asked. The Professor shook his head.

"You'd think so," the Professor said grimly, "but don't you recall your second trip to Narnia? How long a time was it between?"

"Only a year," Peter said. There was a chill silence. Tumnus sat squirming, feeling under much scrutiny.

"And how old are you, dear Mr. Tumnus?" the Professor asked.

"I am two-hundred and forty," Tumnus replied quietly.

"Twenty-four," the Professor said to everyone in the room. "I reckon—though time runs queerly between here and there."

"So each year here is as ten for him," Peter said slowly. "That's not such a problem. That's short, yes. But it's not so terribly short that we can't figure out a solution."

"Ah, that would be how it was," he said grimly, "if Tumnus wasn't a creature of Narnia."

"But his body is human," Edmund argued.

"His being is not."

"So, then," Edmund pieced it out. "It is more like…each year is a hundred?"

The Professor nodded.

"Hundreds or more. You're not certain, are you, exactly how long had passed in Narnia between your first adventure and your second?"

"Long enough for Cair Paravel to be ruins; enough time had passed for everything we knew to be destroyed or made unfamiliar." Peter's voice was steady.

"Can you see the problem here?" He glanced at the conceited Prince. "And how old are you?"

"I am almost one-hundred and eighty," he replied haughtily.

"Same goes for this young man." Lucy was trembling next to Tumnus. He pulled her closer. Her chin quivered and he prayed she would not cry. He did not think he could bear it. He tried not to think about what the Professor was saying.

"So, you see," the Professor concluded, "we must return them to Narnia. Or…well. We can all do math here."

"But how?" Peter's brow furrowed in distress.

"How else?" the Professor shook his head. "We must, somehow, open the wardrobe again."


	8. VII: The Death of Clocks

**VII**

**The Death of Clocks**

Silence settled over the room, stifling. Peter felt as though he could not breathe. Only the Professor seemed normal; on his face, a mild disturbance but calm eyes. Edmund was stiff beside his brother. Caspian had his arms crossed over his chest. Peter shook his head as if to clear it, and the movement caused Edmund to jump. Lucy sat frozen, and it was to her that the Pevensie brothers looked. The Professor looked pointedly away, to the neutrality of a large glass window. The sunroom grew unbearably warm as the sun beat in.

Tumnus was silent. How could he have known, when he went after the Stag? He couldn't; that was all. He tried to stop thinking about it. Perhaps that explained why he was having such a hard time adapting. He felt so groggy, even after waking only an hour or so before. His head reeled. Lucy.

His brain was numb. This was impossible. Why would Aslan have sent him the stag, if he had known it would be the death of Tumnus? It did not make sense. He must have looked as confused as he felt, for the Pevensie boys looked upon him in pity. It was Caspian who was bold enough (or selfish enough) to break the silence.

"Well, certainly, we must get back to Narnia as soon as we might," Caspian said in a self-important tone. "I have too much to do; I cannot die in some shack in a place no one's heard of." Peter nearly sprang from his chair, ready to snap Caspian's neck for him. Edmund grabbed Peter's sleeve and pulled him back down. He heard the squeak of wicker as Lucy shifted her weight uneasily. Edmund's eyes fell on his sister. Peter finally struggled past the bedroom scene of that morning, and watched the two across from him.

Peter felt only pity. He could not hate Tumnus (or Lucy, for that), no matter what happened; they had grown too close in these past few days. And, really—this was highly unlike Aslan. He did not place rewards before someone only to revoke them.

"Although," Peter murmured under his breath, "isn't that what he did to us, only Narnia is what we lost?"

"Sorry?" Edmund looked sideways at his older brother.

"Nothing," Peter said quickly. "I was only saying how it's not fair at all."

"No, it's strange," Edmund nodded. "There is no justice in it."

"Perhaps," the Professor said kindly, "Aslan did not realize the profundity of the feelings these two young people share."

"No," Peter said firmly. "Aslan knows all. There must be a reason, but I can't think of it!" He looked with compassion at his sister and the young man at her side. They were almost there! he thought passionately. Why would it be snatched from them again? Peter felt rage boiling up in him. No one could treat his sister this way, nor the man she chose. Lucy rose up from her seat, swaying as though dizzy.

"Are you well?" Tumnus asked in worry. He was beginning to be very uncomfortable, with everyone talking about Lucy and him as though they were not in the room.

Lucy whimpered faintly and exited. Tumnus looked up fully at Peter and Edmund then, and now I'm afraid I must interject.

There is nothing so good as the love that bind people together. All cultures have their tales. In China, the story goes that lovers are inseparably connected by a red thread. The wedding circle represents (in Western culture) the cyclical nature of love, it's everlasting power. But there are some things cultures do not need to represent with symbols or stories, because (although we are very different from people in other parts of the world), we share universal knowledge that good is good and wrong is wrong. Love is good: love between brothers, love between partners, and most importantly perhaps of all: love between friends. The forces that tie us are more than magic and time, as are so many things. Perhaps you have realized now what Narnia truly is. It took the Pevensies a little longer, but I'm certain when I say that the Professor knew all along. Aslan, of course, knew—perhaps even dear Mr. Tumnus knew. But all would soon discover it, once and for all.

There was no shortage of love in that room (perhaps only towards Caspian, but even so, the love for Narnia included him). And so, as Peter looked fully at Tumnus, a true mark of love came to pass.

Here is how it happened: In that moment, when Tumnus locked eyes with Lucy's eldest brother, he spoke without words—soul to soul, love to love. _Your sister is the dearest to me,_ Tumnus said to Peter, without any words. Peter understood, suddenly, that letting his sister go would happen sooner or later. Letting go of everyone and everything familiar—comfortable—would come; and no matter how long he prepared, it would always be too sudden and always too painful to bear. He was only so fortunate to know a good man—Faun?—would catch Lucy when Peter took his arms away. Lucy, at least, he could be sure of. And certainty is a very valuable thing. And so it was that Peter Pevensie hiked up his nerve and decided to trust the very thing he feared the most: abandonment. For he felt very much like he was giving Lucy away. But what choice did he have? Peter felt Edmund's eyes on his cheek.

And suddenly, Peter recalled what Edmund had said last night. _We'll always have Narnia. You'll always have Lucy and Susan and I. I'm here for you. _Peter realized, unexpectedly, that arms were waiting for Peter himself to stumble. Someone would always be there to catch him, should he need it. Without knowing it, Peter smiled. A small weight lifted from his shoulders, and he looked squarely at Tumnus and said, _Yes._ The two men blinked and the connection was broken, and another thread linked the Pevensies to the Faun—to Narnia. Narnia touched them so, even still: all of them. And perhaps it's wrong to say there's no magic in love—for after all, there is magic in every worthy thing. It is a remarkable thing, magic. Very rarely does no good come of it. Peter was beginning to understand something the Professor always had (something that dear Aslan knew, one day, Peter would know). People make magic every day, with love and acceptance and with faith. But now, you and I, we know as well. And what is more magical than the knowledge of that?

Tumnus left, his eyes grateful, to retrieve Lucy.

Edmund looked at his brother and Peter, seeing his face, put a reassuring arm around his little brother's shoulders.

"Are you sure that was wise?"

"Yes," Peter answered, and he was, absolutely. Edmund sighed and let the trust enter him as well. The Professor and Caspian looked at the boys.

"Surely," Caspian said scornfully, "she could do better than that riff-raff."

"No," Peter said coolly, "I don't believe she could."

"Nor do I," Edmund spoke up. The Professor's eyes twinkled.

"My fine lads," he told the Pevensie brothers, "you are truly men now."

And they were.

* * *

Lucy rushed out of the sun room, her long hair floating around her as the crisp wind of late summer blew. The long grass of the yard rippled golden and green about her shins. She saw her brothers with the Prince and the Professor stand. She assumed they must go upstairs, to work on the wardrobe problem. She sat down, the blades tickling her bare legs.

It wasn't fair! Just as she and Tumnus had been reunited, now they would be torn apart once more. Narnia—it was always being pulled from her. Wouldn't she ever be able to hold onto the dearest things? And Tumnus was dying. Because of her.

The corners of her mouth turned sharply downwards. No, she thought to herself, you will not cry—not anymore. No more crying for things impossible. The back door opened, and footsteps fell silently on the grass.

She wanted Susan so badly she ached. Susan had always known how to cheer Lucy up; how to make any situation better. Lucy sniffed, hard. It wasn't the same, just Peter and Edmund and herself (although Lucy dearly loved her brothers, do not misunderstand). Lucy strained to imagine what Susan would tell her, should she be here and should she believe any of the fantastic story.

_You must be strong,_ she could picture Susan's gentle voice, her graceful hands soothing, rubbing Lucy's back. The light swayed and it seemed as though Susan _were _there, in the pollen from the wildflowers, in the dust in the air, in everything. She could almost see her face. She could certainly feel her hands. _Like some strange ghost,_ Lucy thought wearily, tired. So tired. _Or like the spirits of trees, from the Great War._

"I don't think I can be," Lucy told the—ghost? Messenger?

_You are just as brave as Peter,_ she heard Susan say. _Maybe even more. You must be strong, my dear one. For it is now that your love—and your brothers—and Narnia needs you most._

"Now I know you are a ghost," Lucy said with a desperate wail. The image flickered and smiled.

_Perhaps I am,_ it conceded. _But the precious things, keep in your heart. You must take care of your memories. Keep me as you loved me best: Queen of the radiant Southern sun, gentle, all of that._ The ghost smiled, wan and faint, but a smile all the same.

"I loved you best," Lucy said quietly, "just as you are and have been and will be."

_My sweet Lucy,_ said the ghost, _nothing lasts forever._

"Some things do," Lucy asserted firmly, almost as though she were trying to convince herself.

_You always were special, my valiant little sister. Promise me you will stay Lucy._

"I promise."

_Remember we have faith in you! _The ghost—Susan—cried. _Your brothers and I—we believe you can do anything! You gave Narnia to us. You gave us the world. There's nothing greater than the gifts you give, Lucy. Remember you sister loves you well._ The ghost became hazy and Lucy reached for her, but suddenly a cloud of pollen and curled leaves blew through Lucy's hair, and she knew then that Susan of Narnia was truly gone. She was right. Neither Peter, nor Edmund, nor Lucy would ever see their old Susan—their gentle queen—ever again. Yes, once a King or Queen of Narnia, always—but only if you choose it. Susan's choice was clear. Every so often, it caused Lucy pain, and she would sit heavily down. Peter felt it too (Edmund not as strongly). But take comfort—wherever she is, they remember her yet.

* * *

Peter leaned on the windowsill of the attic, as Caspian knocked about the back of the wardrobe and the Professor bent, groaning on arthritic knees, to investigate the strange object. Edmund came to join his brother.

"You seem rather distracted," Edmund said casually.

"I'm sorry," Peter started, looking embarrassed. "I just can't seem to resign myself to the fact that Tumnus must die."

"You are still fond of him."

"That's a stupid thing to ask," Peter said roughly, more cruelly then he meant to. "Of course I do. Our little sister loves him. And he showed Narnia to her. To us."

"We are in his debt, I know," Edmund said. He was always uneasy when Peter mentioned the beginning of their experiences in Narnia. But no one held any ill will towards Edmund anymore.

"Ed," Peter said softly, "what if we can't open the wardrobe?"

"I don't know," Edmund replied. "But I fear what will happen if we fail."

"Are you two going to help, or what?" Caspian shouted, irate and sweaty. Edmund patted Peter's shoulder and returned to work, but Peter remained. He watched Lucy sitting in the middle of the large yard, talking (it seemed) to herself. A ripple of—well, of something—flashed before her, but Peter was sure it was just a trick of the light. He watched as Tumnus began to approach her, and then he watched them together. Suddenly the light changed and Peter gripped the windowsill so hard it creaked.

"Edmund," he nearly shouted, "come quickly!"

* * *

"Lucy?" a deep, rather distressed voice called. She remained silent.

Tumnus caught the glare of red off her bright hair. He came to her and sat across from her in the grass. He held out his arms.

She threw herself into them. Her face buried in his chest, she wept. He held her gently, murmuring against the crown of her head. "Why do you cry?" he asked her, finally. She looked up, disbelieving.

"You ask me why?" He wiped her face gently, but tears still flowed. "I am losing you!"

"No," he said gently, pushing her hair back from her shoulders. "You are not. I will always be here, Lucy."

"Everyone I know—everyone dear from Narnia—they all go away." He sighed, holding her out to look at her.

"I will stay here," he murmured. "Is that what you want? To stay together?"

"You can't," she said, in horror. "You'll die, Tumnus."

"We will all die someday," he shrugged. "It is the only certain thing. No one can say exactly how grass shall grow, but we all die." She looked miserably up at him. His blue eyes did not falter, but he was terrified as she.

"I fear what will become of us," he said finally, watching her. Lucy's green eyes were clear, bright with crying.

"We haven't got a choice," she told him. "You must go back."

"I would not leave you," he said firmly, "for all the stars."

"Aslan will know how to help," she decided. "We will both return to Narnia and talk to Aslan."

"What if he doesn't, Lucy?" He sat in the warm grass and Lucy nearly cried to see his face. He ran his hands through his hair, standing the curls on end. "He can't think I'm the best for you."

"Aslan looks beyond what's obvious," she said desperately. "You're being silly." Tumnus fell silent.

"Tumnus?" she asked after a long moment

"Yes, my dear," he answered, voice hollow.

Don't you miss being a Faun?"

"A little," he said, after thinking briefly what to say. I must be truthful, he decided, for I love her too much to betray her as I did so long ago. "I miss Narnia. But I missed you more, Lucy Pevensie."

"You will stay this way and die within a year, if you remain here with me."

"Spare Oom isn't so bad," he reassured her, pinching her round cheek. "I guess I'll have to stay this way." He looked down at his pale feet, and wiggled his toes. "But what have I become?" he looked up suddenly.

"A man," she said simply.

"It's not a good feeling, whatever has happened," Tumnus said slowly. "I don't feel like Tumnus the Faun. I don't feel like I should. I feel…tired. The world is pulling me down."

"You're not meant for this world," she said weakly.

"I was made for the world where you are." He plucked a wild daisy and tucked it behind her ear. "I was made to be with you." Lucy looked up sharply and he smiled a little. "Like you've never faked sleep?"

There are, in any number of worlds, pairs of doomed lovers that never get a chance to be certain. The least that Lucy and Tumnus had was the sureness of love. They knew that, at least, this was certain.

But, of course, of all things, love is the worst to fight. And the prospect of losing each other numbed any goodness. It pulled hard on Tumnus' chest.

"I believe," he said softly, "that my heart wants to be next to yours."

"You will have to remember me," she told him, "every moment we are apart."

"For the rest of my life," he promised. "Lucy, I don't have much. I've got a few old books and a little money, but I'd give everything to keep you here with me."

"I remember the day we met," she said suddenly. He wondered back to the creek. It seemed an eternity ago, that snowy day under the lamp-post.

"I could not forget it," he said, hesitatingly. He wasn't sure where she was going with this.

"And when you found me—" but he interrupted her.

"You found me," he told her. "_You_ found _me_. You helped me become who I am. You—you _saved_ me, Lucy."

"No," she murmured, taking his hand and drawing her index finger along the palm. "That good heart was there all along. You just didn't know it. You never needed saving."

"Lucy," he said slowly. He felt guilty, but he could not stop himself from saying it. "I believe that… if I were to stay here, I would not die."

Sometimes, however, it seems we needn't fight love at all.

"But the Professor said—" she whimpered.

"Some things can't be decided by time," he told her. He touched her cheek gently. He could hardly bear lying to her, but he had to do something—anything—to make her feel happy again. He could not bear such sadness on her face. "This could bring me back to life again."

"What?"

"You could," he was not quite sure what he meant to say. He didn't know how to convince her. Maybe he couldn't, he thought with despair, but he had to try. He wanted to convince himself. "How you feel for me."

"Love?" she laughed. "Oh, Mr. Tumnus, love is not as strong as all that. You mustn't believe every story."

"There's a reason those stories are written," he insisted. "Love is the strongest force, Lucy. It is the deepest magic in all worlds, here or Narnia. There is no use fighting it. Love for children, love for—for Queens," he said sheepishly. "I don't suppose we can control it any more than we can control the color of our eyes. I never meant to fall in love with you."

"I meant to love you," she said. "When I was young, I knew you to be my dearest friend. And when I grew older, I realized everything we could be. I always meant to be with you." Tumnus flushed.

"Surely you can't mean that,"

"I do."

"Will you wait for me?" he asked suddenly, nearly a shout in how frantic it was. "Will you—will you not choose anyone else, here in Spare Oom? Will you wait, until we figure out a way to be together?"

"I promise," she said, "if you do."

"I could not marry anyone else," he told her. "I could never love another than Lucy Pevensie. Only her. Only you," he corrected himself. "There is nothing I would not do for you." He clutched her hands, his eyes earnest.

Suddenly, Lucy turned her head from him, hearing a snort behind her in the woods. Tumnus followed her eyes. A snow-white beast stood dazzling in the late afternoon sun. In the attic, Peter called Edmund to him, frantically.

"The Stag," he whispered. Lucy gripped his hands tightly. The Stag lowered its head, regarding them thoughtfully. "But—how?"

"I don't know," she whispered. The Stag approached them. In the upstairs window, the two brothers watched the scene unfold. They watched as Lucy and Tumnus rose, hands clasped. Part of Susan's spirit may have remained, swirling in the sudden gust of wind. Lucy's long red hair churned. And slowly, the Stag approached them. It reached out its silky white nose to Lucy, and, with slender fingers, she held her hand out.

"What is she doing?" Edmund whispered. Peter did not respond. He couldn't have. He was frozen. His hands were rigid on the windowsill. Below him, in the field, Lucy's hair halted, solid as stone, fanned about her like a copper halo. The Professor's mouth was open in question, but no sound came out. Peter's eyes moved to Edmund's, but Edmund was focused on their sister. Caspian was stiff, his fist outstretched to knock at the wardrobe. The Professor was still bent in examination. Peter's eyes flicked back to the Stag below and then they, too, stuck. Downstairs, the grandfather clock stopped ticking. Silence settled again that day—eerie, unnatural, magical.

Lucy's fingers brushed the Stag's muzzle, unaware that time had frozen. A butterfly was suspended in its ascension from a wildflower. Under her own, Tumnus' hand felt cold.

"Hello, Lucy Pevensie," a low voice said pleasantly. The Stag had gone. In its place, a blinding golden light. Lucy raised her hand to shield her eyes, taking her fingertips from the glow. If Edmund and Peter had been able to gasp, up there in the attic, they would have. Lucy took a step back, eyes wide in wonder.

"Aslan," she whispered.


	9. VIII: For Narnia

_A/N: Well, here it is: the last chapter. Yes, there will be a short epilogue, but this is where the action ends. Also: I changed the foreword, which was never properly beta-ed, so I suggest that before reading this part you return to the foreword and skim it again (I don't think the epilogue will make sense otherwise). Also, as a present to my beta, there is a Peter/Edmund reference. Enjoy! I hope you guys have loved this as much as I have. _

**VIII**

**For Narnia**

Lucy hardly dared to believe it.

"Aslan?" she asked, and his shape flowed, solidified. It was too surreal. There in the yard stood a magnificent lion. She dropped her hand from Tumnus' and flung herself at Aslan, hugging his strong neck. He chuckled.

"Well, my dear one," he said gently, when she had released him. "Let me look at you." She stood shyly before him. "You are a beautiful woman now. Are your brothers well?"

"Yes," she said. "Aslan, this is _impossible! —_why have you come?"

"Surely you know." Aslan's golden eyes strayed to the figure behind her. Lucy followed his sight.

Tumnus did not move. She looked for a long moment at him, and horror swept over her. He was frozen as well, his eyes like glass. It brought back the terrible memory of him turned to stone in the Witch's palace, and she shuddered violently.

"Don't worry about the faun," Aslan soothed her. "This is all temporary."

She reached up and felt her hair, now loose again, and she took in the butterfly suspended in mid-air. "Is time stopped?" she asked slowly.

"Yes," he said. "You have always been a clever girl. Can you imagine why?"

"The Stag," she mused. "The answer to my deepest need."

"Wise, valiant Lucy," he smiled. "You are indeed true to your name." Lucy flushed, pleased, though the sadness in her heart was wrenching. She felt cloudy and distracted, unable to grasp her questions. Aslan smiled kindly at her earnestness. "We have time to spare. Catch your thoughts." She smiled, embarrassed. She was having a hard time thinking on her feet.

"Aslan," she whimpered finally, voice thin and strained (it distressed Aslan slightly to hear it), "why must Tumnus die? Why do you take him from me?"

"This world is not meant for anyone truly pure and worthy," Aslan said seriously. "There are greater plans for you and Tumnus, and your brothers; greater than you can imagine. Not everything can be laid out so clearly, in plain view. Often the best things we must wait for. But this world—it does no good for the best of hearts. Do not be surprised when you, too, and your brothers, leave it forever."

"What about Susan?"

"We shall see when the time comes," Aslan said grimly, and Lucy knew in her heart Susan was gone. She fell silent. "I know you are in pain, Lucy. This is quite a load for anyone to bear." She turned her face from Aslan and looked again to Tumnus. Her heart crumpled with fear.

"I can't live without him," she said faintly. Aslan watched her, eyes mild.

"You won't have to," he assured her. "Just for a little while. What would you do, to save his life?"

"Anything," she answered honestly.

"Then you must be brave, dear one," he told her. Susan's words rang in her head like the pealing of church bells. "You must be brave and patient. The day will come when everything good will take its place—the two of you included. I know it will pierce like a dagger, but that day will come and sooner than you realize."

"I don't know if I can do it," she whispered. All strength had left her voice. Her legs trembled.

"You can. You are a strong woman, Lucy, and I am proud of you. We are all proud of you—your brothers, and your dear Mr. Tumnus. Do you remember when the Hundred Years' Winter finally ended, and spring came to Narnia?"

"Yes," she said.

"Do you recall how that came about?" Lucy was silent, struggling to remember.

"By hope," he smiled again at her. It cheered her some. "The hope you brought to Narnia and the faith with which you did so. And it was all, really, for Tumnus—on your part—wasn't it?"

"Yes," she admitted, and she realized it was true. All that time, she had been fighting for him. For Narnia, of course, but for the Narnia he had shown her—for the Narnia he would share with her, for always, had he been given the chance. Her insides twisted painfully. She thought she might be sick, at Aslan's large paws. He watched her, sympathetic. He waited for her nausea to pass. Knowing he stood near, a small comfort trickled through her, like water as ice begins to melt. Aslan spoke again.

"I will tell you this plainly—Tumnus will die. He is dying already. He has to return to Narnia. Can you trust in me enough to give him up until your spring comes again?"

"I'll try," she said to Aslan. He smiled gently.

"That's my good girl," he praised her. "I know you'll hurt. But in the end, you'll be together again. And, have no fear, he will remember you. Now, there is little time to lose. Time will start again; your brothers, Prince Caspian, and the good Lord Digory will come rushing down here." Lucy could not think who Lord Digory was. "And in that confusion you will have only a moment to wish your dear Tumnus goodbye."

Lucy could not speak.

"Do you trust me, Lucy Pevensie?"

"Yes," she sighed. "I must."

"Let us stand for a moment and enjoy this beautiful world," said Aslan, and he and Lucy looked up at the blazing sun in the bowl of blue sky. Truly it was, Lucy realized with a shock. It was beautiful more because of the love she knew. It would not be the same, without Tumnus. But she had her family, and she had her faith. Nothing is more valuable than those, in the company of true love. She held firm in her heart everything dear—Peter's patient smile, Susan's face when he laughed without worrying how he looked, Edmund's enthusiasm for sweets (he often smuggled some in for them to share, late at night after the house was asleep), and the sound of a flute coming from far away (or, perhaps, from deep inside her memory). _How about you come and have a cup of tea with me?_ "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she said—to Aslan and to tea. Mostly, her heart conceded, to tea. Lucy dimly noticed that her mouth was dry. Aslan regarded the trees, the grass, the wind, the sky. And they waited for something Lucy was not sure could ever really happen.

The world rippled. Something had changed, yet nothing was different; something had gone but everything remained. Many things happened at once. Tumnus gasped as dead air punched out of his lungs, and bowed to Aslan, wide-eyed; the men came stumbling, running, out of the house. Across the grass, in long leaps, Peter and Edmund came to Aslan. The Professor moved slowly, hand on his lower back. Caspian came behind, his face awash with the awe all feel towards Aslan.

"My Lord," Peter murmured, bowing. Aslan raised his paw, indicating he should rise.

"I have things to say to each one of you. I would have you all stand where I may look at you." And so, the Pevensies and Tumnus, Caspian and the Professor, lined up before Aslan as though in a spelling bee. Peter felt very young. Aslan regarded them solemnly.

"Prince Caspian," he addressed the young man sternly, "you have much to learn about ruling a kingdom. You are young, though. There is hope for you yet." Seeing it was a joke, Caspian smiled warily. Aslan's mouth curled as he continued. "Yet you showed a great bravery, attacking the High King. Foolish, yes, but brave. And you are learning patience, and the value of great love. You shall be a fine king, I have no doubts." Caspian was left flushing with pride and with a new sense of humility. It would suit him well, and for all of his rule, his people would call him the most patient king Narnia had ever known.

"My dear Lord Digory," Aslan addressed the Professor, and the others watched in shock as the great lion dipped his proud head in respect. "You have done well, so well. You brought these children to Narnia."

"It was more of an accident," the Professor admitted. Aslan shook his head, thick mane ruffling.

"There are no accidents. You and I know that well. You need not fear what shall become of Narnia after you pass. You will be there to see it born, in a way we always dreamt."

None knew exactly (yet) what Aslan meant, but the Professor's face was shining so they had no need to question. Aslan turned his golden eyes on Edmund.

"King Edmund, the Just," he said with a sigh and a genuine smile. "I do believe I could not be any more proud of you. You are a good, solid, capable man. I know the happenings of this world and others—yes, all of them," he added with a smirk. "And you have shown compassion and fortitude I did not dare expect from anyone. You have surprised even me. I commend you for it. No one could ask for a better brother." Edmund's chin lifted and his shoulders squared, his freckled face flushed with pride.

He simply looked at Lucy. "To you, I have said everything, my Queen." Lucy's heart lifted, and somehow she knew everything would be all right.

And at long last, Aslan's eyes fell to Peter. Peter stood, stiff and worried, blue eyes squinted against the sun.

"I did well in making you a knight," Aslan observed. "None other than a knight could protect those he loves so completely, with no thought to his own heart. Peter, you are a man now. I need not embellish more, for you are a great man—you are the High King. I do not believe anything is clearer than that." Peter dropped to one knee and lowered his head. Aslan laid a heavy paw on his shoulder. "You have done well, my son."

Tumnus stood awkwardly in his human clothes. Aslan looked gently on him.

"Ah, Mr. Tumnus: a Son of Adam now, I see."

He could not speak, directly addressed by Aslan. He swallowed and made a faint noise.

"Still shy and humble, I see, Tumnus. Uncommon virtues in a faun. But you needn't feel inferior to me, nor anyone. You are the most sincere creature—man, faun, otherwise—I have yet met. It is a rare thing, to meet someone with a truly good heart. And I am privileged enough to stand so many. You must not feel ashamed, Tumnus. I would have done exactly the same thing, had I been you and had I such a beautiful, bright young woman was waiting for me." Lucy blushed. "And your transformation confuses you. And yes, as we stand here, you die. It is curious even to me. But you must remember one thing: you are not a faun. You are not a Son of Adam. Nothing so simple as that—nothing so complicated. You are a Son of Narnia and as such you are everything and you are always welcomed and always loved, no matter where you go or what you are. Do you understand?" Tumnus looked nervously to the other faces watching him. The Pevensies said naught a word. They didn't have to. Tumnus felt their love crowding about him, squeezing him tightly, and he did not fear any more. "You must find the faith inside of yourself," Aslan continued. "You found it once, to go through the Wardrobe to find Lucy once more. You faced an angry man with a cricket bat," (here Peter blushed) "you coped with a new body; you fell through time and space. What is that if not faith, faith and courage?"

"Love," Tumnus said then. He never imagined he could be so bold. "It was love. Not just for Lucy but for—but for everyone. For everyone dear I have met here in Spare Oom."

"All one can do," Aslan finished with a smile, "is bless the lamp-post that led you together." Then, with suddenly grim eyes, Aslan turned on Tumnus and the young Prince.

"We will return to Narnia," he addressed them.

"Oh!" cried Tumnus. "But—but Lucy…"

"Have no doubt, only love," Aslan advised. "Believe me: you will see her again." Under their feet, the grass shivered, each blade quivering. Aslan nodded to Lucy. She knew the time was at hand. She was startled as something, feather-light and the color of ash, coated her hands. A thin—dust? Powder?—covered her skin, filled her eyes and ears and mouth, clung to her hair. Her mouth tasted metallic, like blood. Peter stood firmly, sensing something must change now. He didn't know what to make of it at first. He felt Edmund tremble a little and he looked to his brother. Magic (for that was truly what the powder was: a physical expression of the old magic rolling off Aslan and out from Narnia) fell and settled, a fine, bitter film in Edmund's dark hair. Suddenly, Peter did not see the strong, self-assured twenty-year-old he loved so dearly. Instead, beside him stood the confused, tousle-headed twelve-year-old who had first led him into Narnia. He looked up at Peter, wide, dark eyes asking him to save them.

"What now, Peter?" came the small voice he expected and could never forget.

"Never mind," Peter said thickly, his mouth coated with the tangy stuff (such thick magic!), and he protectively wrapped an arm about Edmund's shoulders and pulled his brother close to him. "Whatever comes, we have each other. We will always have each other and we'll always have Narnia." Two boys stood now on the hill: a blonde, no more than fifteen, and the smaller with black hair. Aslan looked fully at them. Kings of Narnia, always.

"I would be afraid," Edmund said, "but it's strange. I can't quite remember what it feels like."

"That's magic," Peter told him confidently. "That's the sureness of old magic."

"I'm glad you're my brother, Peter." The young Edmund sighed. Peter squeezed him tightly, his throat burning. _You saved me,_ his heart said silently. _You saved me._ And Peter felt that, somehow, Edmund knew even that.

"Me, too," he told Edmund, and he meant it with all his heart. Peter stooped and, clumsily, unsure of what else would say what he meant, kissed Edmund on his mouth. Edmund leaned into Peter's lips.

* * *

Feeling panic settle deep in her stomach, "Remember me," Lucy said, turning to Tumnus. The world began to hurry around them.

It was a moment none would forget. Lucy, beautiful as the sun, long red-golden hair flying, as she looked up into the face of a man who was dying for her. Blue eyes into green. It seemed as though that heavy ash of magic clung only to them. And in that moment, all knew in the greatness of love over all other miracles. It was a snapshot Peter carried in his heart, for faith in his darkest moments. The ground heaved below them.

"No time," Aslan said gently, and Tumnus bent to kiss his Lucy—a proper kiss—forever knowing she was his and he hers. He cupped her cheek. Of course people belong to other people. Peter knew now. He felt suddenly heavy. Beside him, Edmund was twenty again but still their arms remained about each other. Could he bear to let go? Would he, if he could? _No,_ came a gentle voice on the wind. Peter looked up, but whatever shade that had replied was gone. We—all of us—belong to each other.

"You must remember me!" Lucy wailed, green eyes welling with love and tears.

"You must not cry," he told her, and he handed to her the white handkerchief which started it all. "My dear Lucy—there will never come a day that I do not love you." He flickered.

"I love you!" she shouted, suddenly, finally, as he blurred in the bright sunlight. "I love you, Mr. Tumnus!"

"I love you, Lucy Pevensie." The world ignited in flames from the sun, it seemed (it was only the magic, catching the light just so). The Pevensies and the good Professor were obliged to turn their heads, for brighter than anything was the light the magic threw off. And with a flash and a sudden silence, Lucy looked up. Prince Caspian, and the great Aslan, and Tumnus were gone.

Peter put his other arm around Lucy.

"Let us have faith," he said to her.

"Won't Susan be jealous when we tell her!" Edmund crowed.

The three siblings walked back to the house. The Professor followed beside them. None spoke. And as they mounted the steps to the Professor's back door, Peter's memory swept back to the first doorway that mattered, the threshold of the Wardrobe. In his mind's eye, he pushed through coats. With those first Pevensie steps on snow—well, that was the world's death. That was their true birth. And Narnia called, even now. Deep in the Wardrobe, Narnia sang to them. Even to the day of their deaths, it rang so loudly in the Pevensies' ears that, sometimes, they could barely think. In an instant, Peter remembered everything that had happened to the four of them—the Pevensies, the true rulers of Narnia. He saw it all, as if playing on a screen with the sound off. _For Narnia_, _anything_, he thought with a wan smile, and opened the final door. _For them, everything._

Lucy's mind was not on the house before her, or on the golden-green yard, nor even on her two dear brothers. Her green eyes sought out the sun.

"Don't cry," Peter told her, holding the door open, calling her in.

"I'm not," she said. "I am only waiting."


	10. Epilogue: Remembering You

_A/N: The real and proper ending. I have enjoyed writing this story so much, and I've loved even more sharing it with you. I hope you've had as much fun as I have. Thank you all so much for your comments and your feedback, they mean the world to me. The last line is modeled after the end of 'The Last Battle'. Here's to C.S Lewis and his Narnia _:) .

**Epilogue**

**Remembering You**

And here is where _our_ story ends.

In Spare Oom, years passed. Lucy grew older. Peter grew kinder and Edmund more forgiving. Susan, as Lucy had predicted, never again was the Queen she had once been; she only grew further and further away from Narnia. Peter and Edmund and Lucy grew as close as it is possible for siblings to be. Edmund and Peter never bickered anymore (to the amazement and relief of Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie); they simply stood together, studied together, quiet and content. They just were, just as the stars and the change of seasons, the pull of tides. No one asked questions. No one had need.

Sometimes Lucy seemed strangely sad to Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie, but it seemed her brothers understood. On occasion, their parents looked at them curiously, for often in Augusts their three children would stop and turn their faces to the sky, swaying together in a wind that seemed only to touch them.

Again in Narnia, Tumnus returned to his home and seemed miraculously cured. No time at all had gone by, he discovered, the first time he called on his dear friends, the Beavers. They were enormously pleased to see the Faun returned to his former self (Tumnus enjoyed his own legs and hooves in a way he never had before), although there were moments he seemed distant, head thrown up to the sun. Mrs. Beaver thought he looked older, more wrinkled about the eyes, and more sure of himself. Mr. Beaver assured her it was just her imagination.

Christmas passed, and slowly, winter turned to spring. And for some reason, Tumnus felt sure to expect Lucy soon. One day, with no reason, he was drawn to Cair Paravel. In passing the lamp-post, he smiled. It did not haunt him anymore.

And here is where the next chapter begins. The false Narnia (as Aslan called it) ended; destroyed by closing in on itself and hatred. And though the Pevensies died young in Spare Oom, the greatest rulers found themselves in their golden kingdom once more. The good followed Aslan, further up and further in. Through a door in the air (Peter felt queasy), they trooped eagerly, to the true Narnia. So vibrant it was, the Pevensies could almost taste it (I should specify—only Edmund, Lucy, and Peter could almost taste it. Susan was not there, and, indeed, they never saw her again). It was Lucy who first scrabbled over long grass to behold the true Narnia. Out of the past came their dear Narnian friends—the Beavers, the Centaurs, the good Animals who had helped them so much. But Lucy's green eyes were wide, searching for a red streak across the new grass. In the trees, birds sang with joy to see Aslan. The Pevensies' hearts sang for Narnia. After such calling, finally, they were home.

Lucy stood apart, long red hair whipping about in the fresh wind. And slowly, over a round hill, a figure in a red scarf approached. Lucy made no move towards him. Edmund came to Peter's side and stood with him. Quietly, their fingers entwined. Another moment Peter would treasure: two figures, shadows in front of the sun, looking towards each other. There was no hurry to rush, they seemed to realize. They had forever now. Finally, the two met. Hands reached out for their mates.

"I've been remembering you," Tumnus said in a low voice. In Lucy's pocket, he saw the handkerchief.

"I have never doubted it, my dear," she said with a smile, and the two looked over the spreading eternity of Narnia.

"It certainly is a beautiful world," Edmund said simply. Peter agreed.

Tumnus leaned down and kissed her (a proper kiss, of course). The first of many, going on forever: and each kiss better than the one before.


End file.
